Il Dragone
by rowan-greenleaf
Summary: Malfoy leans in,and I fancy I'm about to get welcomed. I catch a whiff of his personal scent;something like vanilla and...boy.Yum. "We don't have all day," he informs me, "Have a seat or leave, but don't just stand there, looking like an idiot." Right.
1. Benvenuti

**NOTE:** Don't know if it's been done before, but I thought it up during breakfast this uh, morning...(okay, in reality it was this afternoon. I got up LATE). By the way, I hate the song at the beginning, but the lyrics are cool, and appropriate, so don't hold it against me.

Inspired by the moment in which Michael Corleone says "prego" to Apollonia, in The Godfather I, although the story in itself has nothing to do with the movie.

The rating has been upped to M for Weasley swearing, just to be safe, and for some lemony freshness in future chapters.

Enjoy, and **PLEASE REVIEW.**

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**Il Dragone**

**Chapter One: "Benvenuti"**

_Have you ever been alone in a crowded room__  
__while I'm here with you__  
__I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue__  
__Just dark blue_

_And this flood, this flood is slowly rising up, swallowing the ground__  
__Beneath, my feet.__  
__Tell me how anybody thinks under this condition so__  
__'ll swim, I'll swim as the water rises up sun is sinking down and now_

_All I can see are the planets in a row suggesting it's best that I__  
__Slow down this nights a perfect shade of__  
__We were boxing, we were boxing the stars__  
__We were boxing (we were boxing) you were swinging from Mars_

_And then the water reached the west coast__  
__And took the power lines, the power lines. __  
__And it was me and you and the whole town underwater__  
__There was nothing we could do_

_It was dark blue__  
__If you've ever been alone you'll know dark blue__  
__If you've ever been alone you'll know, you'll know_

--"Dark Blue", by Jack's Mannequin

**X**

Dumbledore is standing in front of the teachers' table at the head of the Great Hall.

Clad in white robes and a Merlin-style hat, he makes me think of Gandalf, after he transfigured and ceased to be gray.

The old wizard's hands are folded into the sleeves of his robes and he is smiling complacently. I know that his blue eyes must be twinkling behind his spectacles, although I'm too far away to actually see them.

In short, Dumbledore looks like he's up to something.

"Uh-oh. Brace yourselves," Ron mutters from my left, having obviously arrived to the same conclusion as I, "looks like Dumbledore is up to something."

Hermione chastises him gently for his omission of the word 'professor', but it's halfhearted. There's obvious apprehension and curiosity in her face; we're all eager to know what's up.

"In the spirit of fomenting inter-House relations, necessary to maintain unity in these most trying times of uncertainty…" Dumbledore booms…

I tune out and think of my Potions parchment, the one due tomorrow, and simultaneously wonder if a haircut like Chastity Smith's new shoulder-length bob would be a favorable look for me.

I've had my hair long since I can remember, and it now reaches down past my waist. I've thought of doing "something" to it for ages but, wavy and vibrantly red, I'm aware my hair's my biggest charm. Let's just say I'm not anxious to do something that might end up being irreparable. Also, although my mum and I haven't been getting along at all lately, I really don't want to send her to grave prematurely- which is exactly what would happen if I were to cut or dye my flowing, coppery locks.

I'm ripped out of my reverie when Shawn, my best friend during the past two years or so, gasps dramatically at my side.

"What?" I demand, turning to look at her.

I'm suddenly aware that hundreds of conversations have broken out all over the Great Hall, the collective voices fusing into a steady, excited, _buzzing_ sort of sound.

"Ginny!" Shawn says reprovingly, flipping her blond hair behind her back. "Weren't you paying attention? Dumbledore says we're to start up clubs!"

"_Clubs_?" I say, as if the word were alien to me.

"Yeah, yeah, we can start one or join one," my friend says quickly, then turns to ask Seamus if he thinks that a cooking club would be cool.

I sigh. I've watched her crash and burn on a number of occasions, but still it's hard to tear my eyes away from the train-wreck.

I manage to look away just as Seamus says "NO."

**X**

Shawn leaves quickly, presumably to our room to enjoy a good cry in relative peace.

I eat a piece of key lime pie, although I don't even like lime, just because dessert is my favorite meal, and it's either the pie or rice pudding. The House Elves haven't put much thought into tonight's menu, it would seem.

Once I'm done I head out of the Great Hall, thinking of stopping by the library to work on my Potions assignment before assuming my best friend duties. Namely, trashing Seamus Finnigan with a still tearful Shawn.

"Hey, Weasley," someone calls out from behind me.

It is a girl's voice, but I don't know her well enough to identify it yet.

I turn to discover Cho Chang standing there, arms full of rolled up parchments and full lips quirked into what could pass for a smile. I nod at her.

"Hey, Chang."

We're not friends; we know each other mostly from Quidditch. She was disdainful of me, at first, just because she's a seventh year, and I'm a fifth year who used to drool all over Harry, but I won her grudging respect the first time she saw me fly. I earn everyone's respect when they see me fly, I think to myself.

In that moment the exquisitely beautiful Draco Malfoy walks by like he's royalty, flanked on either side by his minions, Crabbe and Goyle. I am forced to reconsider; _almost_ everyone's respect.

But I digress.

I turn to Cho again and she wastes no time. "I'm starting a newspaper," she says, to which I raise my eyebrows politely.

"Dumbledore approved it with the condition that the staff have a member of each House in it."

I say nothing, failing to see what this has to do with me. I'm dense like that, sometimes…

"I need a second in command, as well as a senior correspondent, Weasley," she confides.

With her china doll face and porcelain skin it is easy to see why Harry fell so hard for her. With her ruthless black as coal hawk's eyes, it is easy to see why things didn't work out.

"The first issues will be mostly about the clubs, sort of as an introduction. There will be other sections to develop, to be sure, but the clubs will be the main feature," Cho continues. "I want you to join the staff as junior editor and man the club section."

"What?" I ask, surprise evident in my childish voice. "You want _me_?"

"Of course, Weasley," Cho says plainly. "Everyone knows you have a penchant for writing."

_In evil diaries_, I wait for her to add.

She doesn't. Instead she says, "I've seen your work and it's quite good."

I scowl. Those short stories weren't supposed to find their way around the school, but Zacharias Smith was a boy with a grudge. He thought he would embarrass me, thus avenging the insult of my Bat Bogey Hex at the start of the year. He succeeded, to a point. Those stories had a slice of lemon in them, if you know what I mean. Still, the fact remained they were, as Cho said, quite good, and I was recognized as both a sexual pervert _and_ a good writer, to Ron's shame and the interest of most boys at school.

"So, what do you say?" Cho inquires, tapping her foot as a sign of impatience, but I can see her almond shaped eyes are on me intently.

"I say..." I take a deep breath, wondering what I'm getting myself into. "I say I'm in."

**X**

I meet with Cho at the library the following night and we are soon joined by four other Ravenclaws, a short Hufflepuff boy named Marvin Grey, a Hufflepuff girl who's name I don't catch, and Colin Creevey, who is appointed Senior Editor of Photography.

He beams, but we all know this just means he's the only real photographer at school. Still, I'm happy for him.

Looking around I realize we are at least one Slytherin short, but don't comment. I know that Cho will convince one to join the staff, sooner or later. I also know that she gets along well with Malfoy. In other words, the two had a short-lived –and widely discussed- post-Harry fling. I wonder if he will be the one to join the staff, and sincerely hope not. The last thing I need is for that asshole to be undermining my authority; Cho has made plain that I am second in command, despite the fact that I am a fifth year and almost everyone else on staff is a sixth or seventh year.

If you find it odd, think of Quidditch, where age doesn't factor in and all that matters is skill. Cho seems to figure the same goes for writing and managing a newspaper; I am even more flattered when this dawns on me.

The meeting goes well, and I am relieved to realize that I have made a good choice in joining "Cho's Club". The Golden Trio had been less than amused, although none save Ron, (of course), voiced their displeasure; Hermione had started a film club, of all things, and it seemed they'd counted on my joining.

"I'm sorry, Mione," I'd said, trying to sound apologetic. "I've already joined the newspaper staff, you see."

The brunette said nothing, but it was clear to me that she was displeased. Whether it was because I'd turned her down or because she wasn't asked to be a part of Hogwart's first-ever student newspaper, I do not know. I tell myself it's the former: Hermione wouldn't be caught dead joining anything started by Cho Chang; the two share a mutual aversion which I suspect has something to do with Harry.

Several days later I meet with Cho and Marvin, whom I've hand-picked from among the staff to be my assistant with the club pieces. I tend to get along better with males, and he's actually a good writer.

Our boss, as Marvin has already started to refer to Cho, produces a list of the clubs that have been approved and tells us to split them up equally amongst ourselves.

Marvin and I are to become 'members' of all six clubs; we're to meet with the founders to get a clear idea of the purpose, the ambiance and the overall gist of the clubs. Our articles are to give readers as much information as possible so that they can decide which club suits them best.

Cho reads out the name and founder of the first club, and I am both surprised and relieved when Marvin jumps in his seat, calling dibs on it as if it were the key to a Gringotts vault.

"If that's okay with you," he says quickly, glancing at me with hopeful puppy eyes. "I love gardens…"

Cho and I exchange brief looks. I try not to laugh as I nod at Marvin, who seems ecstatic that he's claimed Neville Longbottom's Gardening Club for his own.

Next up is Hermione's Film Club. Unlike the newspaper staff, student clubs don't require members of all Houses to exist, so long as two or more Houses are involved. This is a good thing, I think, for surely the Dream Team would be hard pressed to find a Slytherin who'd willingly join that club. Luna, who's been dating Harry for the past few months, will surely be the inter-House liaison.

I accept the club and am fine with it, though I'm not really looking forward to this film business. I'm not really sure what it is, to begin with.

Next I choose Yvrose Girard's Book Club, the only club I'd actually see myself joining so far. Yvrose, (pronounced eve-ROSE; that took me a while to figure out, too, and it was embarrassing), is a third year Ravenclaw with dark brown skin and warm honey colored eyes whom I sometimes exchange books with.

Marvin gladly accepts Selma Claire's Musical Appreciation Club. She's a pretty Hufflepuff, and I can see that he's looking forward to joining her club.

We've reached the last two clubs and Cho lays down the list on the table, pushing it towards us with a wide grin.

I look from her down to the parchment in front of me, and my jaw drops. The two clubs that are left are:

Lavender Brown's Divination Club –gag- and _Draco Malfoy's_ Italian Club.

Marvin and I look at each other calculatingly for a moment, and then both of our fingers dive to Lavender's name.

"I want the Divination Club," I state petulantly, hoping to pull rank on this particular matter.

"I don't want the Malfoy club," Marvin states firmly, and, might I add, a bit more sincerely than I. He folds his arms across his chest and looks mutinous. "I will not cover Malfoy's club," he adds. "I would rather quit."

Cho says nothing and looks at me with amusement, obviously wondering how I will handle this. Will I give up? Will I give in?

We've had several staff meetings, distributed tasks and responsibilities. If Marvin quits now, we'll be a good team member short, thus pressed for time. Still, I do not appreciate being threatened by an underling, especially not in front of my, well, boss.

I square my jaw and turn to my notes, ripping off two pieces of parchment.

"Tell you what, Marvin," I say, and he looks up to meet my eyes fearfully. "We'll draw for it. Whoever gets the _M_ has to cover the Italian club and that's that."

He looks at me for a moment, then nods curtly.

"And let this be the first and last time you give me an ultimatum," I tell the seventh year Hufflepuff sternly, under the watchful almond shaped eyes of Cho. "Try that stunt again and I'll walk you out of the staff myself. Got it?"

Marvin has the grace to blush and nods, and I can still feel Cho's intense eyes on me. Approving or what, I don't know, nor do I care at the moment, for you see, my fate is sealed. This whole raffle business is nothing but a ruse of mine to maintain at least a semblance of dignity. In truth, I might as well have agreed to take on Malfoy's club from the get-go.

Allow me to explain: whenever I participate in a raffle, draw, or contest that yields dubious or down-right ill fated results, I am the immediate winner.

For example, last year I participated in the Daily Prophet's _"Win a Firebolt" _raffle, in which ninety-nine brooms were distributed to lucky winners all over England. I, of course, received nothing. But, have a _"Who Gets to De-gnome the Garden?"_ raffle, a _"Who Gets to Break the News of Trevor's Untimely Demise To Neville?"_ raffle, a _"Who Gets to Join Draco Malfoy's Stinking Club?"_ raffle. Forget it, I ALWAYS win. I don't even know why I was surprised when I unfolded the piece of parchment to find a shaky _M_ in the center, in my own handwriting.

**X**

The Italian club opens on Friday, two days from now.

I sit at my usual spot at the Gryffindor table, between my brother and my best friend, picking at my lasagna and casting a certain platinum blond Slytherin what I hope are covert glances.

I've had a busy day, seeing as I've been to the Book Club, which was all I thought it would be, and to the Film Club, which was all I thought it would be (if you could hear my voice, you'd know what I mean). Later I'd met with the respective heads of the clubs and had "interviews" with them. All in all, a pleasant affair, and though I still have three weeks –and three more club meetings to attend to- before the newspaper's inauguration, the articles have more or less taken shape in my head already. Good thing, too, because I also have my junior editing duties and Quidditch to see to.

All in all, my work at the newspaper is turning out to be quite enjoyable, save for one tiny little detail: in two day's time I'll have to attend Draco Malfoy's club gathering, and will presumably have to interview him afterwards –alone- as well. My eyes flick over to him again and I feel a flare of apprehension, and to my surprise -and, yes, _shame_- a flicker of excitement.

Draco Malfoy, with his perfectly symmetrical face, razor sharp cheekbones, and exquisite bone structure, fair hair and smoldering, pewter colored eyes is…how can I say this? Well, gorgeous.

There. It's that simple, really. It's not up for discussion, like whether or not Snape has become less of a bastard since the end of the war, or it's just that we all expected him to, and are too used to him anyway. It's just a fact: two plus two makes four, my hair is red, and Malfoy is beautiful.

He's also an insufferable git. Many things have changed after the demise of the Dark Lord. Harry has loosened up considerably and smiles a lot more often. Lucius Malfoy and associates are rotting away in Azkaban. Becoming a Death Eater is no longer expected –or demanded- of the Slytherin elite, who have also loosened up.

Some things, however, will always remain the same. Slytherins are still underhanded, mean-spirited, sneaky, miserable gits, and Draco Malfoy is still an insufferably arrogant asshole.

What, did you expect he would become pleasant and kind overnight? Please…

Meanwhile, the fact remains that Malfoy isn't really as horrid as he used to be, in fact, almost anyone outside of Gryffindor will tell you he's surprisingly polite, if dispassionately so. He still wears his so-called superiority like a shield, but he's not really mean to anyone non-Gryff who comes into contact with him. That, of course, affects me in no way at all, so it's safe to say Malfoy is still a git. And yes, we've covered that a couple of times, but there it is. He's a git git _git_!

Just three weeks ago he lifted my skirt, without my knowing it, and I walked down the hallway with my left butt-cheek showing until someone finally said something. Yeah, it felt drafty, but I had been distracted at the time…

Anyway, I'm still watching him out of the corner of my eye, and he looks to be lost in thought. I haven't seen him bring the fork to his mouth in the last ten minutes or so. His eyes are focused in some point in the distance and his elbows are on the table, a piece of bread on his left hand, which is bent down at the wrist.

Blaise Zabini is sitting next to him, at Malfoy's right, as per usual, dark and handsome and just…_appealing_. Hey, it's true. It's a Slytherin thing; most of them are hot. It's sad, but true. But then Crabbe and Goyle make up for it.

Anyway, Zabini seems to understand that the platinum blond next to him needs his brooding space, and he's leaving him entirely to himself. Therein, perhaps, lies the secret to the success of their six year long friendship, and the cause of the demise of the fleeting romantic link between Hermione and my brother. And I'm not talking about Ron, in case you were wondering.

**X**

It's Friday and I'm standing in the middle of a third floor corridor, outside the door to the room where the Italian Club is meeting.

To encourage inter-house relations the club gatherings are to be held in what are perceived as "neutral" places. Still, when I finally gather the courage to open the door and walk into the room, I'm not surprised to find that all the faces that turn to stare at me with varying degrees of shock and annoyance are Slytherin.

I recognized most of them from class or Quidditch, or just plain bumping into them in the hallways. I notice immediately that only three males are present: Blaise Zabini, Jonas Flint and Draco Malfoy. All fifteen remaining club members are female. Why am I not surprised?

"Well, well, well," Zabini says at last, sounding amused. "What do we have here?" His eyes rake up and down my body appreciatively, and I notice Aiken Dunn, fifth year chaser for Slytherin, and if the rumors are to be believed, Zabini's flavor of the month, is giving me a downright dirty look.

"A lion in the snake-pit!" Zabini declares, with a predatory grin.

Now, I know I'm no Gisel Bundchen, but I'm pretty, and puberty has been kind to me; I don't usually get pimples and I've "filled out" quite nicely. In the words of Seamus Finningan, I have a "nice rack", and for this reason I'm more or less used to this kind of male attention; I ignore Zabini and Aiken Dunn, my eyes seeking out Malfoy.

He's sitting at the far end of the table around which they're all sitting. His fair hair is done in a disheveled chignon at the back of his neck and he's reclining in his chair lazily.

Quite suddenly I am reminded of my Aunt Agnes' angora cat, Diana. She lounges around in much the same way, knowing herself to be beautiful and entitled to the admiration of others.

I clear my mind of these foolish thoughts just before the image of myself rubbing a purring Malfoy's flat, Quidditch toned belly, like I do to Diana, becomes any more defined.

Malfoy is looking at me expressionlessly, his exquisite face slightly tilted and curiosity evident in those stunning eyes of his which are, like I said before, the color of pewter, save when it rains, and they become stormy gray…

I'm trembling like the school-girl that I am under the intensity of his gaze; "entertain me", his eyes seem to be saying. I'm lost in them, and have to actually force myself to speak. What's happening to me?

"Um, hi," I say at last, trying not to wince at how childish my voice sounds. Everyone just stares.

"I'm the newspaper correspondent…"

Malfoy raises a delicate eyebrow and stands slowly, lazily. Is he really moving in slow motion or is it just me?

"Weasley," he says tersely, as he approaches me. Despite the delicacy of his features, Draco Malfoy's voice is a deliciously deep baritone.

He walks up to me with all the grace of a puma, and for one fleeting moment I fancy myself about to get welcomed into his club by the man himself.

_Benvenuti_, as I recall, is the Italian word used in such cases.

Malfoy leans into me, and I catch a whiff of his personal scent.

Vanilla and boy. Yum…

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes.

He leans into me. "We don't have all day," he says, instead of 'benvenuti'.

Big fucking surprise.

His voice is deceptively soft and patient, as if he were talking to a twit, or a small child, when he adds, "Have a seat or leave, but don't just stand there all day looking like an idiot."

Right.

Lifting my chin, I fix him with a glare as I try desperately to come up with a clever comeback.

Malfoy's looking at me with what can only be disdain and halfhearted expectancy.

After a moment I saunter over to the nearest empty chair and take a seat.

**X**

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**PLEASE REVIEW! **What do you think? Do you like it, or what? I'd never done first person for D/G before! How'd I do?


	2. Disastro

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Two: "Disastro"**

_To criticize and judge,_

_how did I end up here?_

_With these standards I'm forced to love,_

_make me disappear._

--Matroshka, by Dredg

**X**

I take a seat, and realize I need to twist around in order to face Malfoy, who's standing at the front of the room.

As I turn, my chair makes a horribly grating, _scraping_ sound, and I can feel everyone's reproving eyes on me.

I blush, but force myself to sit straight, lifting my chin in a way I hope reflects insolence. Raising my eyebrows, I proceed to rifle through my bag, drawing out my notebook and quill, like a good journalist.

It feels like everyone's glaring at me, and they probably are, but I ignore them, and turn to Malfoy.

He stares at me for a moment, with what can only be disdain, and then looks away, rolling his eyes.

"Now that Weasley, here, has so _graciously_ consented to stop interrupting," he says sarcastically, in that silky baritone that's starting to send indecent ripples over my skin, "Let us begin."

I suppress a shiver.

Had his voice always been this beautiful?

The silence is total -and almost expectant- as Malfoy looks at his rapt audience, his eyes scanning over every face. He's put a hand on his slender hip, and looks quite comfortable standing there, being the total center of attention. There is a certain deliberateness to all of his movements that seems familiar to me, but I don't understand why.

"Who here speaks Italian?" the platinum blond inquires.

Out of the close to twenty people present, two indicate that they do: Blaise Zabini, and Athena Krauss, a fifth year I know from Potions and Care of Magical Creatures.

She has beautiful, raven black curls I've always been secretly envious of -in the same way I envy Cho her straight, silky curtain of hair- for mine is wavy. Not straight, not curly, just somewhere in between, and it resists all my efforts to change this with an obstinacy I find almost commendable.

The club founder's question is still hanging in the air.

Athena's hand is raised proudly.

Zabini just smirks, amusement clearly written across his handsome face.

Malfoy says nothing; in fact, he looks like he more or less expected this. A silky lock of silvery blond hair falls across his eye, and he makes no move to rearrange it. Instead, he turns to the black board behind him, and picks up a piece of chalk with his long, thin fingers.

My eyes go from the back of his fair head, to his tight, firm looking ass before I can help myself. It's so, so nice to look at, but I force myself to avert my gaze.

Looking away from that region, I admire the grace with which he writes, and his surprisingly neat –and _pretty_- print.

Casting my own notes a guilty glance, I'm forced to admit that compared to Malfoy's elegant writing, the pathetic scrawls covering my parchment could very well be hieroglyphics drawn by Dobby, if he were ever to take an interest in Egyptology.

"_Parlando Italiano, il libro di testo_," Malfoy says softly, in beautiful, seemingly flawless, Italian, "Is available at the Hogsmeade branch of WizardHard Books, and in shops all over Diagon Alley. Get it."

Someone asks him to repeat the name of the book, in spite of the fact that it is written quite clearly on the board, for all to see.

Malfoy walks right into that one; a feminine sigh is heard from somewhere in the left of the room, when he repeats the sentence.

Still facing the board, the platinum blond ignores the offending sound, but I see his broad shoulders tense.

You, my friend, have just been had, I think to myself, grinning.

He turns to face us, and pauses, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"Those who intend to partake in this club are expected to speak Italian fluently," he states, tightening his jaw. "He or _she_ who is unwilling to learn this language can leave _now."_

For some reason, Malfoy -and everyone else present- turns to glare at me accusingly.

My silly grin fades, and I tense, but make no sign of leaving.

"Very well," he says, still looking at me.

I meet his beautiful, intense lead gray eyes in a way that to him must seem daring and unflinching, but I know better: I simply can't tear my eyes away from his.

Malfoy's face is exquisite; I always knew it was, but I've never looked at him this long before.

I realize quite suddenly that I'm charmed by him, by how achingly beautiful he is, how graceful and simple his movements, the gestures he makes when he speaks. And that voice, Merlin, that voice…it could melt steel; it could melt _me_.

"If you don't know enough Italian to properly introduce yourselves, and talk polite rot by next Friday," Malfoy drawls, "don't even bother showing up." There's real menace behind his voice; I can see he means business.

Malfoy continues speaking, and occasionally his eyes meet mine. There's something about the way he looks at me, with a strange mix of appraisal and disdain, something about his gestures, with his deliberate, almost feline grace, his precise diction, and obvious hauteur; he is strongly reminding me of someone, but I can't place who it is.

It isn't until he pauses to sneer at Pansy Parkinson, for daring to whisper something to Jonas Flint while he's speaking, that I realize who the platinum blond reminds me of.

It's not something he's doing intentionally, I realize, but he's emulating him perfectly, and perhaps this explains my strong attraction to Malfoy: he's the carbon copy of Severus Snape.

Don't look at me like that.

As far as I'm concerned, the Hogwarts Potions Master is a brooding, misunderstood artist, for potions making is indeed an art.

I can't stand people hating on Snape. He is a _genius_. He is brilliant, insightful, with his own brand of deliciously dark humor, and furthermore he is _hot_, and his hair's not that greasy, anyway.

So there. And, yes, I'm really a Gryffindor.

Next, Malfoy glosses over the club's purpose: "to partake in Italian culture."

"Why?" I ask, and again find myself being glared at from all sides.

"Why _what_?" he inquires impatiently, and I can see I've touched a nerve.

"Why do you want us to partake in Italian culture?"

I'm intrigued; what's with Malfoy and Italy? Where did he learn Italian? Why would he start this club? I haven't the slightest clue. Nor do I know why I've actually voiced my question.

That's not like me at all, but it's water under the dam now; he's stopped talking altogether and looks at me, like he's seriously contemplating my question…or me.

"I don't think," Malfoy says tersely, fixing me with a look that makes the blood freeze in my veins, "That that is any of your business, Weasley. And I'm not taking questions at the moment, so pipe down."

"_Sorry_…" I mutter, earning another glare.

Malfoy quickly changes the subject, stating that books in the original Italian will be exchanged and discussed, Italian customs and celebrations reenacted, and Italian music and cuisine explored.

On this last point there is obvious interest from his audience, evidenced by excited whispers, and Malfoy raises a placating hand; _down, you beasts_, he seems to be saying.

"I will start," he declares. "Next week I'll prepare _spaghetti alla carbonara,_ and _risi e bisi_."

I stare at the boy in amazement.

I don't know what that last one is, but, by Merlin, coming from Malfoy's full, sensuous lips, it sounds _delicious_. It might very well be broccoli stuffed rat gizzard, though, for all I know. It's Slytherins we're talking about here, and they're heinous. Who knows what they'll eat.

Anyway, the fact that Malfoy is sounding like an accomplished chef, whereas I can barely fry an egg properly, irks me, but only slightly. I am too thrilled by the prospect of seeing him cook.

"A different member of the club is expected to prepare a traditional Italian dish every week," he is saying, and I wince.

As if I haven't embarrassed myself enough in his eyes, already.

Time passes by quickly. I find myself wishing I could stay like this a little longer, sitting and staring at him, but the allotted hour and a half is soon up.

Malfoy, who's by now sitting at the edge of the table, resting his right forearm on his thigh, asks if there are any questions as he conjures a tray of delicate looking pastries he refers to as 'cannoli'.

The tray hovers in the air, pausing in front of every club member, as conversations break out all over the room. No one speaks to me, and I wonder if even the dessert tray will ignore me. Will it float past me, when it's my turn?

It doesn't; the pastry-laden tray hovers in front of me patiently.

Now, we've discussed my views on dessert, but I have a tendency to be clumsy, and the cannoli are filled with a creamy substance, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Immediately seeing the potential for disaster, and seeing no reason why I should make more of an ass out of myself in front of Malfoy, I refuse the confection.

The tray doesn't get it, and I wish it would leave, but it has other plans; it refuses to budge until I've taken a cannoli.

I glare at it. I'm drawing attention again, which is precisely what I wanted to avoid, but such is my fate.

I turn to Malfoy, and discover his intense eyes are already fixed on me, his lovely face expressionless. My stomach does a weird flop.

He continues to look at me for a moment, then lifts his wand lazily, and flicks it in my direction.

I wince, expecting the worst, and curse myself for not keeping my wand within easy reach, which would definitely be the smart thing to do, if you happen to be a lone Gryffindor, locked up in a room full of Slytherins. To my surprise and gratitude, nothing happens to me, and I realize Malfoy's simply driven the tray away, on to the next attendee.

I turn to him gratefully, but he's talking to Athena, and doesn't look towards me again.

At last the club session draws to a close, and people start to file out of the room, chatting animatedly.

I remain seated, gathering my things, watching Malfoy out of the corner of my eye. He is surrounded by nearly drooling girls, looking rather gorgeous.

I hang back, waiting for him to get rid of them.

My heart starts beating faster, much faster than it did before, and I'm tingling with excitement -and apprehension- at the thought of being alone with the so-called prince of Slytherin.

The last of the girls walk out, and I follow them with my eyes, looking at the open doorway longingly. I admit that at the moment I am seriously considering doing a very un-Gryffindorish thing. Namely, to _flee._

But, I _have_ to interview him. It's the most important part of the whole information gathering process. And that's the only reason why I want to be alone with him.

Right.

Malfoy looks at me, and I look back.

Merlin, he is so fucking beautiful.

There's also something about him, an undeniable magnetism…He seems to create static wherever he goes, he draws you in. I'd noticed that before, of course, but had never found myself being affected by it, until now.

He walks over to me, with his characteristic grace, and stands on the other side of the table. Meeting my eyes with his silvery gray ones, he leans in deliberately, resting his beautiful hands on the smooth mahogany surface that lies between us, until his perfectly symmetrical face is level with mine.

I feel a shameless tingle make its way down my body, as we lock eyes. Curse my hormones and my weakness for beautiful, Italian speaking men.

"Well, baby Weasel," Malfoy says silkily, "Looks like it's just the two of us…"

I gulp, unable to look away, and anyway, I don't want to.

Still, I have got to get a grip, otherwise I'm done for.

"Well color me excited!" I say, managing to pull off a sarcastic tone, as I spread my hands, and wave them in his face. "But _do_ cut the crap," I deadpan. "I need to interview you."

He scoffs, and then raises an amused eyebrow, as he draws himself to his full height. "Whatever. Look, Weasley…"

There's a sudden change in his tone. It's something about the way he says my family name; I realize he is deathly serious now.

"This," he says, making a vague hand gesture, "Was obviously a disaster."

I wait. I'm not exactly sure of what he means; the Slytherins obviously liked the premise of the club, and enjoyed this first session, which is more than I can say for, oh, _the Film Club._

The only 'disaster' I can see here, is that no one remotely interesting decided to show up, and that there's no one from other Houses. I sincerely doubt Malfoy has noticed. Even if he's aware of it, it would hardly qualify as a disaster for him.

"This club is an excuse for silly girls to come gawk at me for an hour," he says, sounding bored _and smug_, mind you, at the same time. "They suppose that if they come, I'll eventually snog them."

True, too true, I think, remembering the looks in some of the girls' faces when Malfoy said, "_il libro di testo_".

"I wouldn't have thought you'd mind," I say, and he shoots me a dark look. "But I don't know you, anyway," I hasten to add, "so…"

He looks at me with those stunning eyes of his, as if he's weighing me, and then says something I wasn't expecting at all.

"Dumbledore is not stupid," he states, without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

I try not to gape, for surely, this must be the first time in recent history a Slytherin has said such words, and not just any Slytherin, mind you.

My mind struggles to make sense of what I've just heard. Does this mean Malfoy agrees with Dumbledore about the need to strive for unity?

Gasp.

A Malfoy with a social conscience? Aunt Muriel is right: these really _are_ apocalyptic times…

I wait for him to add more, hoping he'll elaborate upon that cryptic assertion, but he says nothing, and I'm left to draw my own conclusions.

He's looking at me curiously, and I realize I am staring. I quickly look away, suddenly flustered by the realization that I'm having a real, honest to goodness conversation with Draco fucking Malfoy, the most enigmatic, unreachable, arrogant person at school, and every Gryffindor's blond nemesis.

"I want this to work," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't need another fan club. I want this to be a cultural experience…" he trails off and looks at me, and I can tell he's expecting some form of intelligent input from me.

He wants _my_ opinion...The realization is dazzling, but I can't indulge now.

Time to sound intelligent.

"If you want this to work, you need people from other Houses," I say plainly. "That might be tricky. This might come as a shock to you, but I didn't want to come here at all, when I heard this was _your_ club."

I lift my eyes up to his lead gray ones; he's looking at me in silence, and I can tell he's really listening. "You've always been a great big _brute_ -at least as far as I'm concerned- a mean, vicious, horrible troll of the worst kind, and I-"

"Uh, excuse me," Malfoy says, raising an eyebrow. "Is there a point to this?" he inquires dryly. "Or is this just gratuitous slandering?"

_"Gratuitous?"_ I repeat incredulously. "If there's anyone who warrants slandering, it's _you_, Malfoy."

He's walking around the table now, and he's not looking at me anymore.

I feel him stop, coming to stand behind me.

My heart rate quickens, but I tread on. "But yeah, I have a point; if you mean what I think you did, and you want people from other Houses to join, you have to stop being such a tool," I say firmly, wanting to turn around to look at him, but refusing to. "Otherwise they'll be scared to come."

"So you're scared of me?" he inquires.

His voice, low and breathy, is right next to my ear.

I turn my head towards the sound, reflexively, and discover his face is already there, inches away from mine. I bite my bottom lip to keep from gasping.

Malfoy's scent invades my senses again, sweet and yet musky, like sandalwood and vanilla. A thrill goes through me when his icy, gray eyes dart down to my lips.

I shiver, and after a moment he looks up to my eyes again.

I gather my courage.

This is a unique situation, for you see, Draco Malfoy is obviously checking me out. And here's the thing; I'm _loving_ it, but I can't forget that he's humiliated me more times than I can count. I never seem to be able to get him back; this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I'll be damned if I don't take full advantage of it.

"Ogling me, are you?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow, and managing to keep my voice from breaking with nervousness. "Like what you see?"

Malfoy eyes me critically. He looks me up and down, and then looks me straight in the eye. "Yes," he says, unabashedly.

He draws away, his face expressionless, and I turn to look at him, trying not to blush like a Weasley.

I hope that I'm a good enough actress to keep him fooled, to not show how utterly, completely, savagely shocked and _pleased_ I am by his assertion.

Malfoy turns away, heading towards the door. I sit there frozen, and watch him turn to me, his hand on the doorknob.

"I guess that makes us even," he says, smirking as he walks away.

**X**

I leave shortly after Malfoy does, still dazed at what has just transpired, telling myself it's nothing, but tingling with excitement all the same.

I'm ambling around aimlessly, like I'm drunk, and it isn't until I see Christina Roh, the Hufflepuff Keeper, walk past me, still dressed in Quidditch gear, that I realize Gryffindor is scheduled to have practice _after_ Hufflepuff today.

I'm supposed to be on the pitch. _Now_.

My stomach freezes over as I turn, and run in the direction Roh's just come from, cursing all the way to the pitch. Fortunately, I took the time to pack and reduce my practice outfit and broom into my bag earlier today.

I dive into the changing room, slipping out of my school uniform, and into a pair of worn jeans, a sweater, and my boots, in record time.

When I arrive at the pitch, I find the team is already in the air, which is to be expected, considering I am twenty minutes late.

They're doing exercise drills, and only Harry is left on the ground, observing and making notes on a small pad.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" I tell my captain breathlessly, still adjusting my gloves, my broom tucked under my arm.

Harry looks at me coldly, not bothering to acknowledge my apology.

For someone who's so accustomed to breaking and bending rules left and right, Harry Potter is surprisingly anal about punctuality.

I've seen him lose his temper over two things, and two things only: the safety and/or honor of his friends, and _tardiness_.

I don't know; maybe he's just learned to perceive time differently from normal people. Maybe after all he's been through, Harry's learned to cherish time, to really value it.

Still, I'm pissed off at him for his coldness, and I let him know so with a good, long glare.

This is the first time I've _ever _been late since joining the team, and I'm supposed to be one of his closest friends. I fought by his side against Voldemort's Death Eaters, for crying out loud. He can cut a girl some slack, really.

Harry pales, maybe realizing the same thing, or maybe it's just that I bear a striking resemblance to the twins when I glare.

Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn't do it so often…

Either way, Harry relents. "Blocking exercises," he says, grinning.

I nod curtly, and take to the sky, trying to keep myself from thinking of a certain Italian-speaking Slytherin. And it's not Athena, in case you were wondering.

Even through all the rush and craziness of the last fifteen minutes, the thought of the platinum blond Slytherin, and what _almost_ happened between us, lingers in the background of my consciousness, and the excitement of being in his proximity still hums through my blood.

I tend to be dense about these kinds of things, but it's already dawned on me that I have a crush the size of the planet of Draco bloody Malfoy.

**X**

It's Saturday, a Hosgmeade weekend.

Shawn has detention; Snape strikes again!

It's actually pretty funny, though my arm still hurts from where she punched me, when I told her so, last week.

See, Shawn fancies herself to be clever. And she is, really, but not _nearly_ as clever as she believes herself to be.

She'd started to skim inches off her Potions parchments in the middle of last year. A quarter of an inch here, a half an inch there.

Snape gave no indication that he realized this was going on, being the devious, sneaky, head of Slytherin that he is, and Shawn figured she had fooled "the old bastard", as she so lovingly refers to him.

It wasn't until last Thursday, when he sauntered over to my friend with a slight sprint to his step -his standard issue Slytherin smirk firmly in place- that Snape finally let on that he'd known all along.

Well, "let on" is one way of saying it. Snape isn't best known for being subtle; he waltzed right up to our table, and stood right in front of us, all pale skin, raven black hair, and stygian eyes. His arrogant features were arranged into a rather sexy sneer, and, so help me, I blushed like a debutant, trembling at his proximity.

He ignored me entirely, save to place his long, spidery fingers on the table, right in front of me. Even though this is a treat in itself –Snape has the most beautiful hands- I did wish he would look at me. His blacks as coal eyes, however, were on Shawn.

"Salmone," he said softly; Snape always speaks with beautiful precision, but there was something about the way he said it, the way he drew out all of the syllables in Shawn's family name, almost with gusto. _Sal-Moh-Nee._

"The day of reckoning is come," he declared. His deep, arrogant voice was deceptively soft, and it's the closest I've ever seen him to smiling. _"Detention…"_

He gave Shawn two hours for every missing half-inch. The sum total is eighteen hours of non-consecutive detention, and all _four and a half inches._

I love Shawn to death, I really do, and I think our Potions Master was a bit excessive in his punishment. But I crack myself _up_ every time I think of Snape, biding his time, measuring Shawn's parchments, and actually adding the missing inches for almost a year, letting her believe she was fooling him, only to drop the bomb on a random day.

I love that man.

So anyway, yeah. Since Shawn is otherwise engaged, and will continue to be so during a good part of the year, I have no one else to be with.

Oh, wait. Did you think I was_ popular_?

Ha, ha, ha.

Allow me to enlighten you, in case my fit of laughter just now didn't: I'm not one of those charming Weasleys, like Bill, Charlie, or the twins. Nor am I one of those Weasleys who are total dorks, but have some saving grace that draws people to them anyway. Like Ron, who is noble, and Percy, whose intellectual supremacy is indisputable.

No, I'm just good ol' Ginny; I march to the beat of my own drum, and I'm not like other girls, which is why Molly Weasley and I just don't get along.

I don't talk much, but when I do, I'm too sarcastic, and people don't really know what to make of me. Shawn is really the only person I've ever met who speaks my language.

With her out of the picture, I'm faced with two choices: either hang out with the most interesting, funniest person I know..._me_... _Or,_ I can cling to Ron, and his courageous friends.

Needless to say, I decide to go to Hogsmeade, with Luna and the Golden Trio. I fully intend to slip away eventually, to go purchase my copy of _Parlando Italiano_.

The five of us go to Rosmerta's for butterbeers straight up. The days are getting shorter and colder, and besides, Ron, Harry, and I have never needed much of an excuse to have a butterbeer anyway.

We stay there for nearly an hour, and then move on to Honeyduke's. The slight butterbeer buzz I feel at the pit of my stomach curls up and dies when I see the couple standing at the entrance.

I'll give you five guesses who it was, but you won't need them. Who are the two most beautiful people at Hogwarts? Why, Draco Malfoy and Cho Chang, of course.

They're engrossed in seemingly deep conversation, both looking criminally gorgeous, as per usual, even more so now that they're together, he standing several inches taller than her.

I would be hard pressed if I had to decide which of them is prettier. It's like trying to choose between caramel and Nutella for a sundae topping. They're both yummy, just in entirely different ways. Still, Malfoy has the edge, I guess, because he's a boy, and he's not supposed to be in a contending position at all…

Anyway, I know I'm mentally ranting, but a hundred different thoughts fly through my head as we continue to approach them, a hundred different feelings spring up, too. Mostly I'm thinking how hopelessly inadequate I am as a reference to female beauty, when compared with Cho Chang. And, I'm thinking that they look wonderful together.

This could be Ken and Asian Barbie, though I sincerely hope Malfoy's packing more than that plastic doll under the band of his faded, form-flattering jeans.

"Weasley," Cho says, spotting me as I walk by, and then her eyes fall on Harry.

"Chang," I return, though I know her attention is no longer on me.

Malfoy is ignoring me _completely_ as I stand there, with Ron, Hermione, and Luna.

He's waiting politely for Cho to finish greeting Harry, as are we; the two are exchanging niceties.

They ended things well, and are still civil to each other. The same can be said of Malfoy and Cho, apparently, if they've even ended things at all.

The thought stings, like a squirt of lemon juice on a paper-cut, and I brush it away.

I decide to ignore him right back; who does he think he is, anyway? The hottest guy in the entire school?

Oh. Right.

Despite my resolution, I can't help but look at him out of the corner of my eye. His white-blond hair is done into a plait, with some loose tendrils framing his lovely face.

When Harry finally walks away, leading Luna by the hand, Malfoy turns to Cho again, and the two resume talking, with the Slytherin acting as if my friends and I hadn't even existed to begin with.

"They look so pretty together," Luna says dreamily, and without a trace of jealousy, bless her heart, her tiny hand in Harry's.

Her boyfriend and I both turn to glare at her.

We enter the sweets shop.

Hot and steamy rage is bubbling inside of me, and I get this sudden urge to just _kick_ something.

Naturally, I attack Ronald, who's conveniently close to me, well within striking distance. I smack him upside the head soundly, to which he protests with a loud and whiny, "Ow!"

He glares at me, and I glare back.

"What was _that_ for, you demented little bi-"

Hermione glares Ron into silence before he can finish the thought, and then turns to me inquisitively.

"Ginny, a word," she says, grabbing me by the hand.

As she starts to drag me away I feel a vicious yank on my hair, and turn to glare at Ron.

"It serves you right!" he calls out victoriously, and I flip him the finger, as Hermione leads me to the candied fruits section.

She releases my hand, and turns to me with soulful brown eyes.

I've seen the way Hermione sits gazing into space in the common room, and sometimes during meals. It seems whenever she has a moment to herself, she gets that lost, distant sort of look.

We all know the real reason why she has started the Film Club, taking it up with fervent dedication, along with her prefect duties and her compulsive studying.

If she weren't such a terrible flyer, I'm convinced Hermione would have tried out for the Quidditch team, just to guarantee herself no free time at all. It seems she wants to drive herself to oblivion or insanity through restless activity; whichever comes first.

I look at her, and think for the hundredth time that she's as far from being over my brother as she ever was, even though it's been almost three months.

"How's George?" she inquires at last, though we're both perfectly aware that's not the Weasley twin she wants to know about.

"Fine," I say evenly, refusing to volunteer more.

If Hermione doesn't bring herself to ask, then I won't answer. I hope she doesn't ask. I really, really do.

Hermione and I, we're not the best of friends, but I love her, in my own way, and I know it's the same for her. The last thing I want to do is deliver the news that I'm sure will shatter her.

Contrary to what you might have heard, I'm not that experienced when it comes to men. My only real relationship was with Michael Corner. Our separation was painless; we both knew we were wrong for each other. That didn't stop me from wanting to claw his eyes out, when I saw him holding hands with Tabitha Stevens, a week after we broke up.

I can't imagine what Hermione's reaction will be when she learns that my pathetic brother, Fred, has moved in with Angelina Johnson.

She won't see it the way my brothers and I do. Heck, even my mother, who's been trapped since the seventies in her own little world of self-enforced domestic bliss, owled me to say that in her opinion, it's quite obvious that Fred is still in love with Hermione. Why else would he throw himself at Angelina, like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood?

Hermione and I look at each other in silence. The need to know, mingled with pain and fear, swim in chocolate brown eyes.

Apparently fear wins, for when Hermione next speaks she's wiping at her eyes as she says "So what's with you and Malfoy, then?"

She shakes her head, begging me to change the subject, even as I reach out to squeeze her shoulder gently. Suddenly her question sinks in, and I gape.

"_What_?" I cry, feeling my face instantly grow hot. "What do you mean?" My voice is a bit shrill, and perhaps I am speaking louder than is necessary, I just realized.

"The way you two looked at each other…it was pretty intense," Hermione is saying, sounding amused, and I can tell she's relieved that the unspoken subject of Fred is closed.

"At _each other?"_ I practically shriek. "He completely _ignored_ me! Like I was chopped liver. He didn't once look my way!"

I realize I'm not even bothering to deny that I was, in fact, ogling Malfoy, but there's no point in doing that, anyway; Hermione Granger really _is_ the smartest witch of our time.

She's grinning enigmatically now, like she knows something I don't, and I suppress the urge to grab her by the neck, and wring information out of her.

"He didn't even look at you?" Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's what _you_ think."

* * *

**Translation of things in Italian:**

_Disastro:_ disaster.

_"Parlando Italiano", il libro di testo:_ "Speaking Italian", the text book. It actually exists, and I disclaim of it! I don't want to get sued!

_risi e bisi:_ rice and peas. (I know. You're shocked it _wasn't_ broccoli-stuffed rat gizzard!)

**NOTES: **The male component of the Hermione/Not-Ron-Weasley romance was revealed, (sorry, Giane!), and I have to say, I would have liked for it to have been Bill, or Charlie, but since Hermione's just turned sixteen, and is still at school, it just didn't seem realistic to me. But Fred's pretty cute, anyway.

Hope you guys liked this chapter! The response to the first one was wonderful, and I know this one is a little slow paced in comparison, but the next one will make up for it, I promise...in fact, chapter three is the place to be, if you want to see Draco with his shirt off... ;p

**PLEASE REVIEW!!**


	3. Detenzione

**NOTE:** This chapter starts out a bit slow-ish, but there's a prize at the end, for those who persevere... ;p

* * *

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Three: "Detenzione"**

_Here I am expecting just a little bit_

_too much from _

_the wounded._

_But I see,_

_see through it all,_

_see through._

_And see you._

--3 Libras, by A Perfect Circle

**X**

"If you're not going to pull your own weight, you might as well leave," Cho says calmly, arching her lovely eyebrows. Her beautiful features have arranged themselves into a hard mask, and her stygian eyes are cold, and ruthless."I won't stand for mediocrity."

I'm trying to keep my face expressionless, but I cringe watching her, in spite of myself.

It's one thing to go up against the Ravenclaw team captain at the Quidditch pitch, where everyone's got their scary on; sitting across from her at the table of our newspaper staffroom on the fourth floor, on an average Monday afternoon, Cho's callousness is harder to face. Maybe it's the civilized, professionally mundane context of things.

Still, I look at her now, and it's easy to see what Harry and Malfoy saw in her. Aside from the fact that she's gorgeous, there's something appealing about Cho's aggressive, straightforward attitude.

"_Mediocrity?_ I've tried my fucking best!"

I can feel people flinch around me, at these words.

"Nothing is good enough for you, so why don't you just do it yourself, then?"

My eyes haven't left Cho's face; her expression doesn't change, and I'm wondering what she'll say to this, though I can pretty much guess what's coming. I guess we all do, really.

Everyone –including me- seems to be holding their breath, but we don't have to wait long.

"Kindly leave," Cho says coldly, tapping her quill against the mahogany surface of the table.

"Gladly," Corinne Braxton snaps, gathering her things quickly.

Everyone's silent; the only sound that can be heard is the rustling of papers, followed by the rhythmic clicking of the girl's shoes against the polished stone floor as she leaves.

She slams the door shut behind her, a bit more energetically than was warranted, and a collective breath seems to be exhaled; the tension in the room, however, remains the same.

"We'll have to redistribute chores," Cho says, speaking to me for the first time since the meeting started. "It's too late to think of a replacement."

"Colin and I will take care of it," I answer coolly, to which Colin, sitting two spots away from me, nods immediately.

Corinne, a seventh year Ravenclaw –and Cho's best friend, as I understand it- was in charge of Design and Graphics, until two seconds ago.

The outline of our paper is being built up by parts, so we've set up dates to accomplish certain goals. While it was true that she had been slacking off lately, not really meeting her deadlines, Corinne did have a point. She said what no one, myself included, has the guts to say to Cho's face.

The thing about Cho is -and perhaps I hadn't mentioned this before- she's kind of a bitch_._ At least, she is since Cedric died; everyone reacts to tragedy in different ways, I guess.

She's also two-faced in a way I find completely perplexing: one of those girls who flirts shamelessly with men, and bites the heads off of most people of her own gender.

I've not really seen "slutty Cho" at work; Cho with guys around is reportedly a completely different person from the one I know. But here at the staff meetings, she is, I presume, more or less her real self: brilliant, but demanding, perhaps overwhelmingly so.

We haven't come head to head against each other, yet. Maybe she fears the renowned Weasley temper, or maybe she really does trust me…who can say? The point is, she lets me be, and doesn't interfere with my work.

I can't say the same for some of the others, though; Cho is the biggest control freak you ever saw, she gets in everyone's face, and some, like Colin, just laugh nervously. Others, like Helena Simmons, have been threatening to quit all week. She doesn't say it to Cho's face, of course, nor to mine, but word gets around.

It's not really in my job description to play therapist, but I'm thinking of approaching Helena, and talking about it. Especially after what just happened; we really can't afford to lose another staff member.

To be quite honest, I'm thinking of speaking to Cho about it, too. Things are too tense, and the work environment just isn't enjoyable anymore.

As the day to our grand opening draws near, a quiet buzz of anticipation has been generated all over the castle: everyone wants to see what Hogwarts' first ever student publication will look like. Needless to say, though we're pleased, there's a lot of pressure on everyone on the staff. The last thing everyone needs is a fire-breathing _uber_-bitch in our midst.

The meeting ends, and the relief is palpable as people quickly clear out of the room.

I wait until everyone leaves, and turn to Cho, who's still sitting at her place at the table, staring off into space.

"Look, Chang," I say, steeling myself, and dispensing with preamble.

"Weasley," she cuts in suddenly, lifting her eyes to mine, "Draco Malfoy wants to advertise his club in the first issue. Apart from the article you're writing, he wants to get something up."

"Oh?" I raise my eyebrows, remembering their conversation outside of Honeydukes, and hope flutters inside of me, like a tiny butterfly.

Was that what they were talking about? I mean, was that _all?_

"I told Draco to take it up with you," Cho continues, standing, and arranging her papers into the black leather bound folder she's taken to carrying around. "You're the Junior Editor, advertising is your domain...I know you don't get along with him, but we're all grown ups, right?"

"_I_ am, anyway," I say loftily, and immediately frown when I realize how childish I just sounded.

Sighing, I try to clear my mind of thoughts of striking blonds, and concentrate on the matter at hand.

I want to be careful about how I say this. Cho's temperamental, and, by Merlin, so am I. Things could end badly, really badly here.

"Listen, Chang-"

-"I know," Cho says quietly, cutting me off again. She lifts her china doll face and looks at me, her graceful hands becoming still.

Our eyes meet.

"I know," she repeats, softly. "It won't happen again."

I open my mouth, and then close it.

Right.

**X**

It's Wednesday.

I am a busy girl these days. What with classes, assignments, Quidditch, the newspaper, the clubs, learning Italian, and dealing with my massive crush on a certain Slytherin, I have a really tight schedule.

Like right now, for example, I have fifteen minutes to catch lunch, and then it's off to the Book Club, which is meeting earlier today, because of Hufflepuff Quidditch practice conflicts.

As I walk down to the Great Hall, I think about my conversation with Cho at our last meeting, and my mind wanders back to last Saturday.

I see her again with Malfoy, standing there, in deep conversation at the entrance of Honeydukes.

'Jou-chan' and 'Draco-chan'; their nicknames for each other, from when they were dating.

Everyone with a pulse at Hogwarts –scratch that, even the ghosts know that 'jou-chan' means "little miss" in Japanese, ever since Malfoy started calling Cho that, despite the fact that she's Korean. It must be an inside joke of theirs.

Isn't that sweet?

In spite of myself, I feel a twinge of relief at the thought of them talking about just club stuff outside of Honeydukes, and not about how much they like being pretty together.

Well, I never really thought they actually talked about _that_, but, you get the point.

The Hogsmeade trip went well for me, by the way. I grinned like an idiot the whole time, since the moment Hermione told me that Malfoy, well, _looked_ at me.

I know, I'm pathetic.

I tried to get Hermione to elaborate as to _how_ he looked at me, but she wouldn't say anything beyond 'intensely'. I didn't need her to tell me that; everything Malfoy does is done 'intensely'.

Meanwhile, I also didn't need for Hermione to assume the maternal tone she uses on Harry and my brother when she lectures them, while warning me about the dangers of getting involved with a Slytherin, and furthermore a _Malfoy_, but she went ahead and did it anyway.

After we left Honeydukes, we went to the jokes shop, Zonko's, to check out "the competition"; the twins are thinking of opening up a Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

I wandered around the aisles for a while, and then discreetly disengaged myself from the Luna-Dream Team connection, stating that I needed to buy some quills, and no, I didn't want them to come with me. I made my way towards WizardHard Books as they walked the path towards the Shrieking Shack.

Ten minutes later I emerged from the book shop, a paper bag hanging from my arm, bearing the weight of_ Parlando Italiano_ and _Bianchi-Bachellet's English-Italian Dictionary_, which the clerk referred to as "the bb".

Let me just say, learning a new language is not cheap. I'm completely out of money now, and will have to depend on Ron for future trips to Hogsmeade, until my check from Romania arrives in the mail. Ha, ha.

It pays to be the youngest, and the only girl. Everyone gives me money, except for Bill, because he's married now, and I felt bad, so I told him to stop.

Ron, however, only gets cash from mom, and sometimes from Fred.

Anyway, when I left WizardHard, I went straight back to the castle and ran all the way up to the Tower, not stopping until I flopped on my bed, drawing the curtains around me for privacy. Once I felt safe from prying eyes, I inspected my purchases and went right on to lesson one in the first unit of the textbook: "Ciao"

I've been studying since then. Every time I read something out loud, like for example:

_Mi chiamo Ginevra, come si chiama? C'e un menu per bambini?_

Okay, that last one, "is there a children's menu?" I might not be using soon, but still. The point is, I think of _him_, remembering his beautiful voice, his lovely pronunciation.

I haven't stopped thinking about Dra- about Malfoy, though I've tried so, so hard not to. I'm starting to get worried. I don't want to fall for him, like an idiot, and for it to be one-sided, know what I mean?

I think I need to distract myself…Let's not mention Malfoy again.

The last thing I want is to end up like Shawn, who's drooled all over Seamus since last spring, to the point where I think he's starting to really _hate_ her. I'm not kidding; it's gotten so he looks like he's starting to enjoy shooting her down.

And the thing is, Shawn is really pretty, one of those gorgeous blonds you expect will be stupid, expect she's really, really not. She's at the top of our Arythmancy class, and if it weren't for the fact that Snape _hates_ her, she would probably be the best at Potions, too.

She's just lazy, you know, she doesn't really try.

Speaking of Shawn, I asked her if she wanted to join Malfoy's club, and she laughed at me. I told her Malfoy's not nearly as heinous as…Oh.

I'm thinking about him; again.

**X**

I'm sitting at the lunch table now, next to Ron. We're enjoying the second ever 'fast food Wednesday', in which hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza, and fries, are served along with regular food.

I know, you're thinking two things:

Dumbledore's getting cooler and cooler, and, why not 'fast food _Friday _'?

I ask myself the same thing.

Anyway, Ron and I are sitting in amenable silence. It's just the two of us, for once; Shawn is serving detention, Harry and Hermione are nowhere to be seen, and I'm not intrigued enough to inquire over their whereabouts. It must be something Film Club related, since the second meeting is scheduled for later today.

"Admit it," I say to my brother, turning to look at him, and wincing as I watch him attempt to shove an entire slice of pizza into his mouth, "Hermione's club SUCKS."

Ron shrugs. "It must be a Muggle thing."

"No, it's not." I scoff. "Just sitting there, and watching someone yak away about something for almost two hours is boring, whether you're magical or not."

He shrugs again, and I turn to my fries, dipping one in the mix of ketchup and mustard I've made, before popping it into my mouth.

My eyes dart to the Slytherin table, seeking a platinum blond head, in spite of myself.

Malfoy's looking beautiful, as per usual, with his hair plaited at his back, and he's eating a salad. He's picking out what looks like pieces of cucumber, and setting them on the side of the plate, before proceeding to bring a forkful of green leafy things to his lips.

I hate it when guys eat healthy food, especially while _I'm_ gorging myself on greasy, fried foodstuffs.

Another reason why my crush on the prince of Slytherin is just a _bad_ idea.

Malfoy, by the way, has been ignoring me completely all week. He walks by me like I'm invisible, as if my brightly colored, nearly-_orange_ hair would ever allow me to blend in, that _oaf_.

Whatever. I don't, um, really care...It stung, at first, but I'm getting used it, by now, and I don't know why I thought he'd do anything different.

Okay, I _know_ why, but still, it was silly of me.

Anyway, just so you get an idea of how bad it is, Pansy Parkinson pays more attention to me than that git does. She's taken to calling me 'Rita', presumably because I'm working for the newspaper.

Clever, huh? I made sure to tell her so.

"Well, Parkinson, I'm glad to see that the fact that your head is by far smaller than what is considered normal doesn't interfere with your thought process; that was actually _clever!"_

Yeah, unfortunately, that was a mouthful, and by the time I'd finished speaking, she was long gone, and I ended up looking like a crazy ranting lady, the kind that collects plastic bags, and has thousands of pigeons following her around.

Shawn patted my back sympathetically, but the truth is, I didn't really care about looking like an idiot that particular time. I'm used to it, and besides, it's just Pansy -whose head really _is_ freakishly small- and I have bigger fish to fry than looking cool in front of her.

Namely, the newspaper.

"Hey, how's that newspaper thing going?" Ron asks, stealing a fry off my plate.

I think of Corinne Braxton getting fired by her best friend, in front of everyone.

"Fine."

I look in the direction of Malfoy again, and notice he's opening his mouth for the very buxom, very blond, Aiken Dunn to place a french fry there.

The way his intense eyes are fixed on her makes _me_ blush, from all the way over here, and unless I'm much mistaken, his tongue just caught the tip of her fingers. Aiken, predictably, dissolves into giggles.

Merlin, what is _with_ this girl? Wasn't she with Zabini? And he's sitting right there, too, on the other side of Malfoy.

I tell you, those Slytherins are _crazy_ slutty.

Okay, I'll stop stalling with commentary; I won't deny that seeing the object of my obsession literally licking another girl's hand stings. Ouch, okay?

But, witnessing this touching scene serves as today's reality check: _I've been silly, crushing on Draco Malfoy_, I tell myself over and over, like a mantra.

Just then, a fair head begins to turn across the room, and I catch the lovely angle of a razor sharp cheekbone as Malfoy turns to face me.

His lead gray eyes meet mine, and I quickly avert my gaze.

"Meh, I gotta go," I tell Ron, trying to sound unperturbed, as I gather my things. "The Book Club awaits. Then it's Film Club. Ech."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Buzz off," my brother says lovingly, not bothering to look at me. "See you at the meeting. And if you don't show up, I'll tell Hermione you said her club sucks…"

**X**

My Film Club experience is considerably better, this time around. The first session was mostly Hermione babbling away; today we actually _see_ what this "film" thing is all about.

The club founder talked about it for almost two hours last week, but still, nothing can prepare me for actually _seeing_ a film.

The sequence of images, so real, one after the other, takes up the space of the wall we're facing. The once blank wall is now the window to a world that, it seems to me, is as real as the one I'm in.

All, save for Harry, Hermione, and the other Muggle-borns that are present, are left shaken.

We see a twenty minute film, which Hermione refers to as a "documentary", about the annual rice-paper Sky Lantern Festival, in Thailand.

Projected against the wall, people gather for traditional dances, as beautiful girls, wearing their ceremonial clothes and make-up, fan themselves and smile demurely, and there's food, and flowers, and an explosion of colors.

The sight of thousands of candle lit lanterns being set free and rising, illuminating the night sky as the massive crowds gathered looks on, their faces raised, sets goose bumps through my skin.

We sink into a world of light and sound, and I find my eyes have filled with tears. It is so very human, and truly, truly amazing.

As the film credits roll, we're given brown paper bags filled with "popcorn", and it's rather good, too.

The club session ends, and it was definitely an all around success, this time.

I leave quickly, deciding to postpone the interview, seeing as Hermione is always available to me, anyway. Besides, I have Quidditch practice, and need to stop by my room, to change out of my school uniform, and pick out bits of popcorn from between my teeth in relative privacy.

Once I arrive at my quarters, I change into tattered jeans and a sweater, pausing to apply lip gloss to my plump lips, which are tingling weirdly, due to the salt from the snack I've just had, I guess.

As I look at myself in the mirror, I note the way my hair, which is up in a high ponytail, seems to almost sparkle in the sunlight filtering in through my window, making it glow like it was on fire.

"Malfoy doesn't stand a chance," I say to my reflection.

Grabbing my broom, I walk through the door, wishing I could believe it.

**X**

I walk out into the cold, crisp air of mid October, swinging my broom over my shoulder.

I'm a good fifteen minutes early to Quidditch practice, but I'm in a redemption seeking mood after what happened last week with Harry.

Also, Slytherin has practice, and I do _love_ seeing that arrogant asshole -otherwise known as Draco Malfoy- fly. And yeah, I know I've yakked on and on about how it's silly to like him, and how I'm through with that, and whatever.

If you've ever seen Malfoy flying, you know what I mean. He's graceful and beautiful on land, but when he takes to the sky on a broom, forget about it…he's not even human anymore: he's on another level entirely.

Dry leaves crunch under my feet as I walk along the path that leads to the pitch, shivering under my two layers of clothing. I have not chosen the thickest of sweaters, because I know I'll be sweating once practice gets started.

Still, it is miserably cold today, and the chill air bites at my cheeks, and my unprotected hands.

I search in the back pockets of my jeans for my gloves, and put them on, slapping my hands against my thighs in an effort to, well, I don't know. Numb them, I guess.

When I get to the pitch I am so shocked by what I see, that my broom slips out of my limp hand, and falls to the ground noisily.

I stare in amazement at the sight that meets me, and my eyes feel as if they have been pierced by arrows, for lo, flying around the pitch in graceful -if blindingly fast- circles, is Draco Malfoy.

The top half of his gleaming, white-blond hair is pulled up into a ponytail; the bottom part is loose, flying at his back.

Squinting his lead grey eyes against the bitter wind, with his beautiful face set with determination, Malfoy looks like some sort of… _demon_. Some speed demon that just flew straight out of hell.

This sight is fascinating in its own right, but it's something I'm met with at every match against Slytherin, so it's not really surprising. No, what makes me nearly keel over in shock is that…he's not wearing a shirt.

Yeah, you heard right.

Malfoy is flying around shirtless, in nothing but a pair of tight fitting, black trousers, that display his narrow hips and toned, lovely thighs beautifully. He's also wearing black combat boots, and fingerless gloves. He's even wearing the knee-pads, mind you, but _he's not wearing a shirt_.

I seriously hope I'm not drooling as I watch him, 'cause if I am, there's nothing I can do about it; I am completely frozen in amazement at such a perfect specimen of beauty.

Malfoy's smooth torso is lean and yet well-muscled, the planes of his body are well defined and toned, as if he had been assembled with the sole purpose of serving as inspiration to painters and sculptors everywhere.

I shiver at the sight of the strong, yet delicate lines of his Quidditch-toned body, the suggestion of a six pack on his flat belly, and have the mental image of my tongue sliding over the grooves of muscle on his pale skin.

And his arms! Don't even get me started on his arms…I imagine myself trapped in them, I imagine many things, and a shameless thrill goes through my…uh, nether regions.

Just as I'm about to melt to the ground in a lust puddle, I become aware of the sound of nearby laughter.

Fearing to be the cause of it, I tear my eyes away from Malfoy's gorgeous, partially nude body, and turn to find the remaining male members of the Slytherin Quidditch team, standing in a group to my right.

Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Jonas Flint are watching Malfoy with amusement, and the occasional guffaw, as I continue to stare at them, like an idiot. Save for Flint, who's built like an ox, the rest of the Slytherins are more or less like Malfoy: lean, but strong enough for me to believe that they could snap my neck with their bare hands, if they so chose.

Oh, yeah, and, _they are also shirtless_.

I gape. Did I mention how attractive they are?

Perhaps not.

Did I mention it was cold? Well, it is. It's freaking cold, colder than it's been since we got back to school, and I wonder how they can be so comfortable, standing around half naked in this brutal weather.

"Hey Weaselette," Zabini calls out to me, grinning like he's the Cheshire Cat.

I look at him, and have to force my eyes to remain glued to his handsome, dark face, and not to slide down in the direction of his bare torso.

"Care to take part in our dare?" he inquires, raising an eyebrow, "Our _shirtless_ dare..."

The other Slytherins laugh, and Zabini's stupid grin widens as I cross my arms over my chest self consciously. I also blush horribly, for I am an idiot.

Anyway, I say nothing, and turn back to Malfoy, who's at the moment touching down gracefully, not far from where I stand. His toned chest is heaving, his teeth are chattering, and his face is red and tear streaked. With delicate goose bumps covering his smooth skin, and his fair hair wild around his head, Malfoy is beautiful.

I feel the urge to run to him, to gather him in my arms, to wrap myself around him tightly, and instill warmth into his trembling, pale frame. Before I can begin to chastise myself for this thought, a shriek pierces the cold autumn air, like a Viking war cry.

"DETENTION!" roars a voice, from somewhere behind me.

I'm only half surprised when I turn, and see Madam Hooch stomping towards us, pale eyes blazing with fury.

"Detention!" she says again, driving her forefinger into the air, as if she were performing a rectal exam.

It's obvious the boys have heard –I think even the House Elves slaving away in Malfoy's house have heard- but the shirtless Slytherins are too busy laughing at the platinum blond to react.

Malfoy's just standing there, shivering, and smirking smugly at Zabini. He has the gall to put a hand on his slender hip, as if he were posing for a picture, but it's obvious he wants for nothing more than to crawl under a thick, warm quilt, and have steaming, hot cocoa I.V. infused into him.

"T-told you s-so, Zabini," he says, and his smirk falters when his voice trembles, if only slightly. "I could have kept on going," he adds, more firmly this time.

"Did. You. HEAR ME?" Madam Hooch shrieks at the Slytherins, and they all turn to her as if she were an overly-enthusiastic air stewardess, offering them a bag of peanuts.

"Get dressed this _instant!_" she hisses. "Detention, all of you! At eight o'clock tonight!"

By this time the Slytherins have started to pull on sweaters, and I become aware of the fact that people have gathered around. Namely the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and an assortment of giggling, nearly hysterical fan girls.

I try not to look at Malfoy too much, but I can't help it; he's put on a black sweater, and his hair, still tousled from his wild flight, looks nearly white in the sun, shining like a beacon against the dark cloth.

Tearing my eyes away from the sight of him, I notice that everyone's looking at the Slytherins with open –or in some cases, grudging- admiration.

When I turn to look at Madam Hooch, I note the way her jaw is set, and realize she's preparing to up the ante on the punishment to discourage imitation.

I smile smugly at Zabini as the flying instructor screeches, "Forty points from Slytherin, ten points from Gryffindor!"

Yeah, that's right! You _wankers_! Heh heh heh.

Wait a minute…_what_?

I turn to her, and open my mouth to protest, "But, but, but!" is all that comes out.

"_Weasley_ was the one who set us up for this, Madam Hooch!" Zabini whines loudly, and looks me straight in the eye, that asshole, as the rest of the Slytherins snicker quietly.

Their team captain smirks, and fixes me with a penetrating glance of his eyes, which are shining like quicksilver, probably still stinging from the cold air.

I blush furiously and look indignant, turning to appeal to Madam Hooch, but she's gone. It suddenly dawns on me that when she said "detention, all of you," she really meant '_all_ of you'.

I turn to glare at Zabini, but he's ignoring me entirely as he walks away, broom in hand, in animated conversation with Theodore Nott.

"See you at eight, baby Weasel," Malfoy whispers silkily, and I catch his scent as he brushes past me. He smells of Draco Malfoy, and sweat.

Blessed Cricket, I can't help trembling, and I'm hating myself for the warm tingle that his words and proximity have produced in me. I follow the tall blond with my eyes, and notice Harry standing there, amongst the crowd that has gathered.

He's looking at me expressionlessly, but disappointment is obvious in his bright green eyes.

"Harry!" I protest, beseeching him, as the rest of my teammates glare at me accusingly. Ron, fortunately, is nowhere to be seen.

"Save it," Harry says curtly, turning away. "Let's go! Get up there!" he calls out to the team, not glancing at me again.

I'm on the verge of tears as I hop on my broom, and my boots kick off the cold ground, which is strewn with dry leaves.

My vision is blurred as I fly upwards, higher and higher, and angry tears burn my cheeks, only to be blown away by the chill wind.

**X**

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**A/N**: Thanks to all who have reviewed! Hope you guys liked this installment.

Don't forget to review! I LOVE to get feedback, so tell me what you liked, and what you'd like to see more of.

Also, I promise Ginny's detention with the Slytherins will not be clichéd ;p

**About the chapter:**

1-Translations.

-_Mi chiamo_: My name is.

-_Come si chiama?_ : What is your name?

2-The festival Ginny describes seeing in the documentary is the Loi Krathong, the full moon party in Chiang Mai, Thailand. This is one thing I HAVE to see in person, before I die. : )


	4. Sostituzione

**A/N:** Thanks for your awesome reviews, guys.

This chapter is dedicated to **sheilah**. Thanks for all of your support! I keep telling you this, but it's true: you, my friend, are awesome!! ;)

All Blaise Zabini yummy-ness contained here, however, is for **Snowfire81.**

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**Chapter Four: "Sostituzione"**

_We have been trimmed down like hedges,  
and told just to sit, and wilt,  
and spit at each other from a distance,  
with constant resistance,  
from you._

_It's been ten years strong,  
that's much too long;_

_It's time to do something good for my health,  
time to do something good for myself._

_I've wasted all this time…_

--"Bug Eyes", by Dredg

**X**

Needless to say, I am kind of nervous about tonight. I've only had detention once, and it was a group sort of thing; Snape punished the entire Potions class in my fourth year, for an unfortunate incident involving Shawn, and a few other pranksters, who cast a particularly heinous Farting Charm on the Potions Master's chair.

I was not amused.

Neither was Snape, let me tell you, and since the culprit was never discovered, he was forced to distribute his punishment evenly amongst Gryffindors and Slytherins alike.

Tonight will be a group detention, too, but under much different circumstances.

I should point out that the males of the Slytherin Quidditch team are the most notoriously vile, despicable, mean-spirited students at Hogwarts.

To quote Zabini's lame, unoriginal analogy, I shall, literally, be _"the lion in the snake-pit!" _tonight. Only I'll be more like the lost, orphaned kitten, in a cave full of anacondas...

Okay, that reference was even cornier than Zabini's; forget I said it...

The point is it's not going to be much fun.

I'm also nervous about the fact that Draco Malfoy will presumably be there, and I'm still drooling over him, despite my best efforts.

He's a shrewd one, that one is, and I have to be extra-careful so that he doesn't notice my feelings for him. Otherwise, I'm screwed. And not in the good way.

I'm sitting at the table now, picking at my dinner. My stomach has twisted itself into several knots, and I couldn't possibly dream of eating anything right now.

I've already been to my room, had a nice, long, warm shower, changed into a fresh uniform, and combed my copper colored hair until it sparkled. It's hanging loose down my back, held back, away from my face, by two strategically placed pins.

Grooming usually serves me as a calming ritual, but it did little for me today.

I glance at Malfoy before I can stop myself; he's beautiful as he ever was, with his silvery blond hair hanging loose over his shoulders, for once. The pale, silky strands are combed back, away from his perfectly symmetrical face, drawing more attention to his lovely features.

He's bringing a goblet to his lips, and I watch as he drinks deeply, his long, elegant neck exposed as he tilts his head back slightly.

I force myself to look away, and try to concentrate on my dinner, on Shawn's incessant babble about Seamus Finnigan; on anything but Malfoy, and what awaits me.

Shawn, by the way, accused me of organizing 'a shirtless sexy-Slytherin party' behind her back, which is more or less what the rumor mills are currently churning out.

People at Hogwarts must think I lead a very interesting life…

Also, Ron will definitely die of a heart attack one of these days. I'm told all of the veins in his neck popped out, and he turned as red as his hair when he heard the rumors.

He confronted me not an hour ago, and I told him to go do something I know to be anatomically impossible with his brotherly paranoia. He's calmed down somewhat, since then, but has been threatening to show up for my detention, under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, to make sure I'm okay.

Don't worry, Hermione has already taken measures; the cloak is safely hidden in the sixth year Gryffindor girls' dormitory. The last thing I need is for my idiot –if endearing- brother to embarrass me in front of the Slytherins, and Hermione understands this well.

Anyway, when I glance at my wrist watch, Mickey's gloved hands point out that it's seven thirty three, and he grimaces sympathetically.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" I chant under my breath, tossing my meatloaf around the well laden plate; I've barely touched anything.

Shawn looks at me pityingly, and bumps her shoulder against mine.

"Don't worry, kid," she says, giving my arm a brisk pat. "You'll do fine."

**X**

I walk down the corridor, hearing the echo of my own steps against the stone floor. My stomach is tight with anxiety as I round the corner towards Madam Hooch's office.

I'm not surprised to discover that I am the first to arrive, and it isn't until the clock strikes eight that I am joined by all four Slytherins.

I am met by leers and smirks, which I ignore. I refuse to acknowledge Malfoy at all, or to even look in his general direction.

Soon we're accosted by Madam Hooch, who glares long and hard at each and every one of us before saying "Off to the cauldron storage room with you!"

She shepherds us down the corridor, and into a medium sized chamber filled with old, rusty cauldrons. The room has a high ceiling and no windows, and there's a long wooden table against the far wall.

Madam Hooch conjures several brushes, a bowl bubbling with what I presume is detergent, and two boxes full of old trophies.

"Surrender your wands!" she says peremptorily, extending her hand.

We look at each other, and for the first time it dawns on me that the Slytherins and I share in the same predicament.

I hand my wand over first, and the boys follow suit, not without some grumbling.

"You're to scrub every single one of these trophies and cauldrons _by hand_," she tells us sternly. "I will return at ten to verify your work. You will stay fifteen minutes longer for every unpolished item. I hope you take the opportunity to reflect on what you've done!"

I snort, and the flying instructor turns to glare at me, just before walking to the door.

"Good luck on your hot date, Madam Hooch! Sock it to him, you _saucy_ witch!" Theodore Nott quips, once she locks the door behind her.

The Slytherins laugh quietly, and Zabini starts making spanking gestures with his right hand, using his left one to still what -presumably- is an invisible ass in front of him.

I gather they know our flying instructor's schedule, and shudder at the thought of her "socking it to" someone.

Gah.

Meanwhile, the cauldrons won't polish themselves, so I approach the table, where the brushes and detergent await.

The boys follow my movements with interest, and not a single one makes any attempt to emulate my actions.

"Aren't you going to scrub these cauldrons, and the trophies?" I demand, glaring at the lot of them with my hands on my hips.

Malfoy snorts; he's leaning casually against the wall, with his arms folded across the front of his gray jumper, his fair hair falling over his shoulders. His steel gray eyes are on me, and I observe as his perfect lips curve into a smirk.

The others grin bemusedly, looking just as smug.

A moment later, the blond Quidditch captain puts his left hand into the pocket of his ridiculously well-fitting trousers.

I observe out of the corner of my eye that he appears to be fingering something -and privately suspect it's one of those enchanted coins for communication, for a moment later he opens the door and slips out, followed by Theodore Nott, who closes the door behind him.

I look after them incredulously; that door was locked, so someone must have opened it for them from the outside. I'm not sure they'll be coming back, and I admit I'm more disappointed than I am angry about it.

Rolling my eyes around, I turn to the cauldron in front of me, preparing to scrub my little heart out. I'll do a few of these to temper the wrath of Madam Hooch, when she arrives at ten.

I grab a brush and dab it in detergent, but before I can start scrubbing, the door bursts open.

"They're here!" Zabini says in a sing song voice, his handsome features lighting up as his lips form a decidedly devious grin. "Let's _bounce!_"

"_Who's_ here?" I inquire suspiciously, turning towards the door.

"The replacements," Zabini answers calmly, as Crabbe, Goyle, Lezark, and two other Slytherins -seventh years whose names I don't know, despite recognizing their ugly mugs- walk in through the door.

"What's this?" I demand, looking from them, to Zabini, to Malfoy, who's stepping through the door.

"Oh, come now," Malfoy says, laughing, his gray eyes sparkling with amusement.

I try not to smile back, he's so beautiful.

"You didn't actually expect you'd see _us_ scrubbing away like House Elves, did you, Weasel Junior?" he inquires laughingly.

Apparently the notion is so funny, he's cracking _himself_ up. Never mind that the people he's either talked, or bribed into "scrubbing away like House Elves" for him are standing right there. He's Draco fucking Malfoy; he doesn't seem to care, and he casts the cauldrons and trophies an amused glance before turning back to me.

"Now come along, we're not leaving you here to tell on us."

I look at him incredulously, and then roll my eyes around.

I should have known, really.

"You have to be _kidding_ me," I reply snootily. "I'm not going _anywhere_. I'm staying right here and serving my detention, though I should I point out I did nothing wrong."

I fold my arms across my chest, and Malfoy's beautiful face hardens, his intense eyes meeting mine.

"It's not a request, Weasley. We're not leaving you behind," he says, sneering. "Being that you're a good little Gryffindor, we don't trust you not to tell. Besides, this way, if we get caught, you'll get punished for it too. It's only fair…" He flashes me a grin, and I glare at him.

"But-"

"Enough chit-chatting, let's _go,_" the blond says haughtily, and actually claps his hands as he adds, "Chop, chop!"

Normally this would be amusing to me, but I'm too ticked off to appreciate humor.

I look at him incredulously, setting my brush down on the wooden table.

"There's no fucking way I'm going _anywhere_ with you stupid wankers!" I declare airily, and cross my arms in a way I hope is resolute.

I lift my chin in defiance, and glare at him with all my might, but Malfoy is not impressed. In fact, he looks almost bored as he turns to his fellow Slytherins and says "Seize her."

I pale, thinking I never expected to hear those words spoken in real life, but before I can take a step back, Jonas Flint -who, as I've said before, is built like an ox, and is by far the bulkiest of the Slytherins- _picks me up_ unceremoniously, and flings me over his meaty shoulder, as if I were a sack of potatoes.

"_Gaaaaaaahhh!"_ I squeal in terror, "Put me down, you big, muscle-bound, OAF!"

The Slytherins burst out laughing, as I struggle to free myself.

It's quite useless, really, but I can't stand the thought of being helpless, so I thrash about all the more.

"Put me down, you overgrown toad! Put me down this instant!" I shriek, beating at his broad, well muscled back with my puny fists.

But, I quickly realize, if I raise my arms to do this, the hem of my skirt rides dangerously high, and there's the fact my ass is in the air at the moment to consider. That, and I'm wearing bright _green_ knickers, with _silver_ lettering that spell 'caliente' –_hot_ in Spanish- across my butt.

They were a gift, a stupid gift from Charlie's eccentric Argentinean girlfriend, and I wasn't thinking clearly when I put them on tonight -as a secret sort of irony, mind you- I wasn't thinking at all.

Meanwhile, my priority right now is that the Slytherins don't become aware of this, or the humiliation will just _kill _me.

I quickly lower my hands to protect my derriere, holding my skirts down, my face burning with shame.

"Let go of me, you stupid fucker! LET GO OF ME!" I bellow at Flint, wriggling desperately in his grasp.

Quite suddenly, Malfoy's perfect face appears before mine, and he glares me into silence for a moment.

I raise my face to his, and we lock eyes.

"That's enough, Weasley," he says sharply, as if he were scolding a three year old for picking their nose in public.

His eyes fall on the lock of blood red hair that has fallen across my eye, and for a moment I think he's going to actually brush it away, but he doesn't. Instead he looks back into my eyes and says "Be quiet," in a low, sort of _gentle_ voice I've never heard him use before.

I glare at him, and proceed to shout at the top of my lungs. "HELP! Someone HELP MEEEE!"

Malfoy looks actually surprised for a moment, like he really expected I would do as he said, just because he said so. His surprise is short lived, however, and soon his hand is firmly clamped over my mouth.

"Get Vincent," he commands calmly, and Theodore Nott hastens to oblige.

The warm hand covering my lips effectively muffles my screams, and I stop after a while.

I glare at Malfoy accusingly, and he looks back, smirking, before turning to Zabini.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I resort to doing something truly desperate: I give the soft, open palm of Malfoy's hand a good, wet lick, and he twitches, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

He looks me straight in the eye and laughs -he _laughs_- and says, sounding rather delighted, "Why Weasley, I didn't know you were such a kinky little witch!" His pewter colored eyes are sparkling with malice and humor, as he adds "Oh wait, yes I did. I read "Midnight Sexcapades", your charming little story. I must say, that was a clever use of a broomstick if I ever saw one!"

I glare at him, blushing crimson.

Now let me just point out something. The title of said short story was "Midnight Garden", but Malfoy's twist on it is somewhat accurate: it features two students who run off into the moonlit grounds of Hogwarts and…They have sex while on a broom, okay, while flying over the lake, but there's no other 'clever use of a broomstick', in case you were wondering. I'm kinky, but not that much.

Also, I've suffered enough ridicule on account of this piece of writing, among others -Zacharias Smith be _damned_- to be embarrassed now, though the thought of Draco Malfoy actually reading _my_ "work" makes me uneasy, and oddly pleased.

Anyway, Malfoy doesn't remove his hand, and he doesn't appear to be the least bit bothered by my licking it; quite the contrary -I should have known- so other than making myself look even more depraved, I have accomplished nothing.

The hulking troll otherwise known Crabbe appears shortly, and Malfoy, still not breaking eye contact with me, orders for him to cast a Silencing Charm on me.

I wince as Crabbe raises his wand over me, and look at Malfoy pleadingly; Crabbe is _terrible_ at charms. I could lose my voice forever, or have it transferred to come out of my ass for life, at best, if he casts this spell.

Malfoy grins, and turns to his underling.

"You know what, Vincent, give it here." He extends his free hand, reaching for the wand. "I'll do it myself."

I watch mutely as the platinum blond casts the spell, and removes his hand from my mouth.

I don't bother looking like an idiot by opening my mouth to scream, knowing full well that no sound will come out; Malfoy has the reputation of being a very powerful wizard in the making, and he excels at charms, not unlike me.

"Alright, then, let's go kids," the blond orders, stuffing the wand into his pocket, and walking towards the door.

My hands are still on my skirt, trying to preserve my modesty, as Jonas Flint starts to walk after the tall, blond Malfoy.

My long red hair, which hangs over my shoulder and down the Slytherin Beater's back, sways with each long stride he makes, balanced as I am on his shoulder. A moment later, as we pass through the narrow door, I am nearly decapitated.

"Sorry, love," Flint says, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott close ranks, smirking, and –in Zabini's case- winking at me.

I try struggling furiously in Jonas Flint's vice-like grip again, but it is useless. After a while I give in, dangling limply over the boy's shoulder.

"That's a good girl," he says approvingly, and I resist the urge to sink my teeth into his muscular shoulder. Knowing these Slytherins, he might like it.

We step out onto the grounds, following the dim light of Crabbe's wand, and I wonder only briefly where we're headed, realizing after a while it's towards the edge of the lake.

The cool night air bites against the backs of my thighs, uncovered by my skirt, and where my gray, knee-length socks no longer reach.

Once we reach the lake, the Slytherins sit on the grass, forming a semi-circle. Flint dumps me in between Zabini and Nott, facing Malfoy, who's put Crabbe's lit wand in the center of the circle.

The light plays softly on everyone's face, and I look around discreetly, considering my chances of running away and actually making it. Sadly I know I won't get far.

Malfoy runs his team like an army unit; everyone knows the Slytherin Quidditch team gets up at dawn to jog around the pitch three times a week, and they're all incredibly fit.

_I_ never do any running unless I absolutely have to, and, like I said, the war is over, so I never really do.

Except for now, of course. Hey, hindsight is twenty/twenty.

Zabini notices me looking around, and grins broadly.

"Don't even think about it, _kitty,_" he murmurs, reminding me of my earlier "kitten in the anaconda infested cave" analogy.

It hits me that I am completely helpless, something I haven't experienced since...well, in a long time, and I don't talk about that whole Evil Diary thing, so don't bother asking.

Anyway, for some reason, my frustration at my predicament -coupled with Zabini's smugness, and his referring to me as 'kitty'- makes something snap within me.

Before anyone -least of all myself- knows what's happened, I throw myself at him with all my might, propelled by the steam of my sudden rage.

I knock the handsome dark skinned boy over with the force of my lunge, but not before I catch the look of utter amazement on his face. I land neatly on top of him, and proceed to beat the crap out of him -I hope- pounding wildly at him with my fists, and screaming like a banshee, but no sound comes out, of course.

Zabini's shaking violently under me, holding his hands up to protect his face, and as strong arms drag me off of him, I realize he's _laughing_.

Hot, angry tears slide down my face as I struggle furiously, trapped in the arms that restrain me.

Malfoy's bent over, laughing hysterically across from me, and Zabini continues to laugh, too, curled up on the ground in a fetal position.

When the laughter subsides, Malfoy performs a variation of the _Incarcerus_ on me, still wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

The Slytherins all stare in amusement at me for a bit, as I struggle in vain against invisible ropes.

"Wow, she _really _wanted to scrub those cauldrons…" Nott comments, grinning widely.

"She's a feisty one, I'll give her that," Zabini says admiringly, drawing out a cigarette from his pocket. "When she flew at me, with that red hair, and those blazing eyes, I was like _'oh shit!''_" He laughs again, and the others join in, but their laughter is, surprisingly, not mocking.

Malfoy says nothing, but his pewter colored eyes are on me, unreadable as they ever were, and yet somehow not as cold.

I meet his gaze accusingly, and the corners of his sensuous lips curve into a rare smile just before he turns away and joins the other boys.

I close my eyes, trying to calm down a bit.

After my outburst of violence, I feel totally drained, more emotionally than physically, I suspect, and I just lie there. My breathing slows from great, heaving gasps to gentle, calming breaths. I look up at the starry sky, and wish I could wipe the lingering humidity from my eyes, which makes things slightly blurry to my vision, but, _I can't move_.

Sighing, I shift my gaze towards the Slytherins.

A card game has ensued. The cigarette is passed around, and all save Malfoy take a drag.

It occurs to me that if the Ministry really wants to discourage teenage smoking, all they have to do is make a giant poster of Malfoy's beautiful face, his perfect lips twisted into a sneer of disdain as he rejects the cigarette proffered to him.

Just say no, indeed.

The card game progresses, and Flint -whose intelligence I've always assumed to be inversely proportional to his size- turns out to be a frequent winner.

Some time later, I watch as Zabini stands, leaving the circle, and I'm surprised when he comes up to me, holding the death stick with the air of one who's come to make a piece offering.

"Care for a smoke?" he says, offering to hold the cigarette to my lips.

I lay there like a slug, and give him my best Molly Weasley death glare.

His proximity makes me nervous, as I realize that I am completely at his mercy. Immobilized and mute as I am, Zabini, or any of these Slytherins, could do _anything _they wanted to me.

And for the first time it occurs to me that if our side hadn't won the war, these boys would probably not be playing cards right now, with a defenseless girl tied up in their midst.

I shudder, and Blaise Zabini, seemingly guessing the course of my thoughts, has the grace to blush, his smooth cheeks displaying a darker hue than usual.

"The sight of you lying there, bound and gagged, may be appealing, Weasley," he says curtly, "But I don't go for that. Unless, of course, it's consensual…"

My eyes soften, and meet his dark, beautiful, slightly slanted ones. Despite that last kinky –and, let's be honest, rather _sexy_- remark, I'm oddly touched.

We look at each other in silence for a moment, and I feel something pass through us.

Understanding? A truce?

I don't know, but a second later he nods, once, and turns, heading back to the group.

As he walks away, I look past his shoulder, towards the boys, and notice Malfoy's attention was not on the card game at all, but on us. He apparently followed my exchange with Blaise, and I wonder why.

His steel gray eyes are fixed on me steadily, and we lock eyes. A shiver goes down my spine.

A moment later Malfoy shifts his attention to his hand of cards, and doesn't look at me again.

I hear the Slytherins converse, and surprisingly, they talk about normal boy stuff, such as what a good flyer Oliver Wood is, how hot Cho Chang is –at which Malfoy smirks smugly, but refuses to comment on- and what a tremendous _slut_ Aiken Dunn is.

All in all, the same line of conversation my brothers would have, or Ron and Harry, when Hermione and Luna aren't around.

Time passes quickly; the boys soon rise to their feet, and I realize that it's time to go back.

I tense, wondering what will happen next.

I confess I'm not keen on another ride slung over Jonas Flint's bulky shoulder, and am both surprised and relieved when Malfoy tells him "I'll take care of it."

He lifts me up in his strong arms, taking care to catch my skirt with his arm, I notice, so that my bum doesn't show.

The blond Quidditch captain carries me, bridal style, down the path towards the castle, and I can hear the leaves crunch under his feet, as I sway gently to his naturally long, graceful strides. Cradled in his arms, with my face resting over his toned chest, I can feel the warmth of Malfoy's body, and the steady drum of his heart under his gray school jumper. His scent envelops me like a shroud, and I melt into his warmth.

If I look up, past his fair head, I can see the vast blanket of the sky sprinkled with stars, and the moon floating impassively among them.

I realize I feel oddly safe, and I'm not the least bit worried about being dropped, as usually happens when one of my brothers carries me, as in this instance, quite against my will.

"Weasley," Malfoy says quietly, looking down into my face.

Some of his silvery blond hair, which is gleaming white in the moonlight, falls over his shoulder and tickles my cheek, but I don't mind. I don't mind at all.

I look up into his eyes, tensing.

Never have I felt so at the mercy of someone; and I wish I were speaking figuratively. Or maybe even just physically. Looking into his beautiful, stormy grey eyes, I realize I've never been as vulnerable to anyone as I am to Draco Malfoy, and the thought scares me.

We look at each other in silence, and then he says something that nearly makes me fall over.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, not breaking eye-contact, and there's genuine regret in his deep, lovely voice. "I didn't intend for you to have to go through this."

_What?! _I want to say -except I can't- _Who are you, and what have you done with the biggest jerk in all of Slytherin?_

"I know your Gryffindorish principles are against all this," Malfoy says, looking away for a moment, as he picks our path towards the castle. "But you really didn't expect me to scrub cauldrons to satisfy your scruples, did you?"

I flash him a glare, but it's halfhearted, at best.

I'm still shaken to the core by his apology, by the gentle way in which he holds me, by the fact that his face is only inches away from mine, and that when he speaks, his sweet warm breath tickles my skin.

Malfoy looks down into my face again, and his smirk begins to fade as once again we lock eyes.

Lead gray pools, his eyes are, so like quicksilver. In them I see something indefinable, but not cold, or cruel. His gaze is intense, and it's as if all of his attention were fixed on me, as if there were nothing more.

I wonder what he sees in _my_ eyes, which, I've been told by admirers, are the color of warm honey, or amber.

He continues to gaze at me, and I have this indescribable urge to say his name out loud, his given name, which I've always found so beautiful, and until now has been forbidden me. Even so, deep down he's _Draco_ to me, though I don't allow myself to even _think_ about it, much less say it.

I realize I can now, where it would be otherwise impossible.

"_Draco_," I say softly, and his eyes dart down to my lips, which are still curved for his name, though no sound comes out.

_Draco._ How beautiful.

His fine eyebrows gather together, and he looks back at me wonderingly.

I pray that he can't read lips, but now that I think about it, I wouldn't be surprised; Draco Malfoy can cook, he can speak Italian, and he can command seventh years to do his lowly detention tasks for him. Why wouldn't he read lips?

"Silly girl," he whispers softly. "You know I can't hear you."

I sigh, relieved, but my heart is still hammering away, wildly.

"I could summon a broom for you two, if you feel like _flying_ over the lake…" Blaise says quietly, from our left.

Merlin's balls, has _everyone_ read that story?

We both turn to look at the handsome dark Slytherin, and he smirks at us.

"Don't be an _oaf_, Blaise," Draco says primly, with mock snootiness. "Why would we want to make use of a broomstick, and _fly_ over the lake? It's not nearly midnight, yet."

They both grin wickedly, and I glare at them, fully expecting them to high five at any moment, those dorks. But then Blaise begins to walk faster along the path, towards the ever nearing castle, and Draco and I are left alone again.

He watches me in silence, and then leans in slowly.

My eyes widen, darting down to his perfect lips, and my eyelids flutter, in spite of myself.

I tremble gently, hoping he can't guess the cause, and will attribute it to the cold. I'm scared -I'm _terrified_- but also excited, and…_happy_.

Little tingles break out over my skin, and Draco's lips are nearly brushing my face. And then he whispers, "I really _could_ use that broom…by Merlin, Weasley, you sure are heavy!"

My eyes widen, and then I glare at him accusingly.

Draco snickers quietly, and looks up towards the castle.

What an _idiot!_

I scowl at him, simultaneously cursing myself for being so stupid.

A moment later I find myself snuggling into him against the cold.

Being in Draco's arms is something I never thought would happen to me, and it feels _wonderful_, and even the stunt he just pulled isn't enough to lessen my enjoyment of it.

We arrive at the castle all too quickly, heading towards our supposed temporary prison.

I enjoy my precious last seconds in Draco's arms as we enter the chamber. I've watched his face progressively harden as we approach our destination, until there isn't a trace of humor in it, and it seems impossible that he was laughing, or even smiling, earlier.

A second later, it seems to me, he sets me down gently, propping me up against the wall…Don't laugh.

I am quickly surrounded by Slytherin boys, as Draco's posse and "the replacements" gather around me, eyeing me skeptically.

"What now?" Jonas Flint inquires nervously, his beady little eyes flicking over me. "As soon as we remove the charm, she'll squeal like a pig."

To my surprise, Draco shoots the Slytherin Beater a dark look, and he flinches, but it's Blaise Zabini who speaks.

"No, she won't," he says calmly, and my eyes search for his, but he doesn't look at me. "She's cool; she won't do anything. Much less _squeal_." He, too, gives Flint an indignant look, and I feel a vague tingle of gratitude, and pleasure.

Draco seems to agree with what Blaise has said, for he lifts the wand over me, and flicks it with a precise, elegant wrist movement. His beautiful lips move, pronouncing the _Finite Incantatem_ that releases me from my bonds, and grants me the ability to speak.

Everyone, except Draco and Blaise, eyes me nervously, and I glare at them, taking a shaky step back, and moving to stand by the corner.

I notice the rows of sparkling cauldrons and trophies, organized neatly along the wood table, then look at the wall fixedly, feeling a weird numbness all over my body.

Soon "the replacements" leave, and it's just the five of us again.

I ignore the boys, and they ignore me, and not ten minutes later Madam Hooch arrives. She's looking decidedly more laid-back than she did when we last saw her, and I cringe, not wanting to imagine the cause of her contentment.

After giving the cauldrons and trophies a cursory inspection, she gives a little speech on the importance of decorum, returns our wands to us, and tells us we're to go to our dorms.

I grab for my wand and leave quickly, not looking at anyone, but I can feel Draco's intense eyes on me as I walk down the corridor, towards the staircases that lead to Gryffindor Tower.

**X**

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_Sostituzione:_ replacement. Several "replacements" went on this chapter, in my opinion :D

**A/N: **Hope you guys liked this chapter! **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	5. Dissimulazione

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Five: "Dissimulazione"**

_The river is damned;  
I can't recorrect my path  
through this obstructed venture,  
it isn't flowing yet._

_Caught in his stare,  
electricity travels through my wires where,  
they're reaching for  
it's core, electricity…_

--"Penguins in the Desert", by Dredg

**X**

Need I describe the state of turmoil my emotions were in by the time I got to my room?

I was trembling all over, I felt like crying. I felt like laughing, too, and I felt like kicking myself. I felt like kicking _him_.

I kept thinking that I shouldn't have looked at him like that…surely he could see…but then, the way he looked at _me_…it might have been nothing, it might have been _everything._

I don't know, I just don't know.

It's morning now, and I'm going through my ablutions. Lack of sleep shows in the puffy redness of my eyes; I look a fright.

Standing in front of the mirror, I'm briefly considering using a concealment charm. But the thing is, I hate the idea of wearing magic on my face all day. It strikes me as disingenuous, and I _hate _fakeness.

I look at myself critically, and decide to leave it be. The puffiness will disappear on its own, hopefully soon.

If you're wondering why I hardly slept last night, I'll tell you I was thinking. And _feeling_. I'm falling so hard for this boy, it's scary.

And maybe Draco didn't see the look of pure adoration I gave him when I said his name last night, or maybe he didn't recognize it for what it was; sooner or later, though, he will.

I think of him and Cho, and him and Aiken, and it occurs to me that Draco might be feeling smug, right about now. Another one bites the dust, and all that.

_Arggh._

You know what? From now on, I'm going to try harder to hide my stupid feelings. I'm not going to wear my heart on my sleeve anymore. I know, I just said I hate artifice, but this is crucial to my self-preservation.

I'm going to act as if nothing happened, because _nothing happened._

With that in mind, I finish dressing, and walk out of my dorm, following Shawn into the Great Hall for breakfast.

I'm not really looking where I'm going, so it's no surprise when I bump into someone. A very tall someone, who smells like men's cologne.

"Well?" the tall someone demands, glaring down at me.

_"Ron!"_ I grumble, trying to side-step him. "Get out of my way, you big _dork_!"

Shawn is oblivious; she's talking to Sahara, a fourth year, and has kept walking without me. Shows how active I've been this morning, that my best friend can't tell the difference between my being there or not.

"No, I'm not moving until you tell me what happened last night," Ron states firmly, setting his jaw, and refusing to budge. "What did those slimy Slytherins do to you?"

I glare at him, but he holds his ground, crossing his strong, Quidditch toned arms over his chest.

"Go on, spit it out. What did they do?"

I sigh.

Trust my brother, and his well-developed sense of paranoia, to be on to something. I imagine his reaction if I were to tell him that, among other things, the Slytherins dragged me to the lake against my will, and tied me up with invisible ropes.

"_Nothing_, Ron," I say, wearily.

"Ginny, don't _lie_ to me," he says accusingly. "You expect me to believe you were alone with the four worst Slytherin gits at school, and they didn't do _anything_ to you?" I can see disbelief written across his face as he continues to glare at me.

I look at him calculatingly.

I should explain that Ron is one of the few Gryffindors who makes no visible effort to be tolerant of the Slytherins. This is because, as the two only Weasleys left at school during the war, Ron and I suffered the scorn and derision of the whole of Slytherin House, as we were considered the most prominent "blood traitors" and "Muggle lovers". These are words that you don't hear any more, but the resentment is still there, probably on both sides.

Ron doesn't need much of an excuse to confront a given Slytherin. And he's so paranoid, that denial will get me nowhere at the moment, so I decide to exaggerate the truth.

"Seriously, they didn't do anything _bad_ to me, Ron," I say solemnly, trying to keep myself from grinning. "I _did_ lick Draco Malfoy's hand, and straddled Blaise Zabini, and it's kind of blurry to me now, but I swear there was a moment when they made me kneel down in front of each of them, with my hands tied behind my back, and moving my head from side to side."

My brother's eyes are progressively widening as I continue to speak, seemingly oblivious. "I thought I had just dreamed it, but this morning I noticed my knees are sore, and so is my jaw…" I open and close my mouth demonstratively. "Weird, huh?"

Ron makes a little strangled noise from the back of his throat.

He's looking back at me in amazement, and it's quite funny, but I'm in no laughing mood.

The thing about Ron is, his reaction time outside of the Quidditch pitch leaves something to be desired. I side-step him in one fluid movement, and hurry down the stairs knowing I'll have a good lead by the time he begins to fathom what I've just told him. By then, it'll be Hermione's problem.

When I make it to the Gryffindor table I grab a muffin, telling Shawn I have something to do at the library.

She looks at me suspiciously, but I hold up a hand. The gesture can be interpreted as "talk to the hand", or "I'll tell you later". Both work, given the context.

My friend raises a pale eyebrow, but doesn't comment.

I walk towards the entrance of the Great Hall quickly, refusing to look in the general direction of the Slytherin table, though I really, really want to.

But guess what?

As I hurry out of the Great Hall, I walk right into someone, an angry, red-headed someone, who glares down at me accusingly.

"Really, Ron, this is getting to be an annoying habit!" I snap, trying to side step him.

We're standing right in the center of the entrance to the Great Hall, and soon enough, someone walks into Ron, causing him to bump into me.

We both turn to find Draco Malfoy standing there, brushing the front of his robes, which, as always, look freshly pressed, and as if they'd been made on him. His lips are curled with disdain, and as I watch, a strand of pale hair falls over one of his eyes; I resist the urge to brush it away.

An intense heat spreads from somewhere deep inside me, and creeps up from my neck to my cheeks as I try to avert my face.

"You better watch were you're walking, Malfoy," my brother says rudely, glaring at the blond.

I watch Draco's exquisite face as he fixes his icy gray eyes on my brother and raises an eyebrow. "Fuck off and _die_," he says casually, adjusting the knot in his tie as he starts to walk away. "Stupid _Weasel_," he adds, as an afterthought, and then walks off to the Slytherin table.

Ron stands there, glaring after him, and then looks down at me.

I'm still looking after Draco -who didn't acknowledge me in any way, I'll have you know, as if I had been invisible.

"What now?" Hermione demands, coming to stand next to us, and giving my brother a _"what did we just talk about, Ronald?"_ glare.

Ron ignores her, and continues to glower at me. "What's with you and Malfoy?" he demands suspiciously. "And that wasn't funny, what you did earlier!"

"Ron, don't be a_ tool,"_ I bark, stomping away angrily.

I'm being harsh on him, but I've had it with his over-protective older brother crap. And more importantly, who the fuck does Draco Malfoy think he is?

"And mind your own damned business, you nosy little fuck!" I toss over my shoulder, as Hermione begins to drag him away. Ron shouts something back, but I don't really catch it, nor is it in my best interest to, anyway.

I make it to the library and sit at my preferred table, waiting breakfast out until first period begins: Transfigurations. McGonagall yaks on and on, and I look at my watch frequently. The rest of the morning passes by quickly, and I'm glad when the lunch hour arrives.

"He acted like he was ignoring me the whole time, but I swear he looked at me, once or twice," Shawn is saying, and guess who she's talking about?

We sit at our usual spot at the table, and I grab for the lasagna casserole, proceeding to stuff my face. I usually eat a hearty breakfast, so I've developed quite an appetite.

Ron's shooting me death glares from my left, a couple of spaces down the table, and I'm enjoying ignoring him.

Ignoring the table across the room from me is a bit more difficult.

I_ ache_ to see Draco, but refuse to even look in his direction.

Soon, the flapping of hundreds of wings overhead announces the arrival of the mid-day owls, and I'm not surprised when one of them swoops down towards me, landing lightly on my shoulder.

It's an elegant black owl that impresses me with both its beauty and decorum, for it waits patiently until I relieve it of its burden, without once pecking at me.

I don't recognize it, but I'm not intrigued by this.

I stop shoveling lasagna into my mouth to take its rolled parchment and feed it a carrot, not making much of it. I've been getting a lot of owls lately, mostly articles to proof read, or memos from Cho.

The owl, however, doesn't budge. It's waiting patiently on my shoulder, and I realize its expecting a reply. That's odd, but not unheard of; Cho likes to have the last word, but she _will_ ask for my opinion, every once in a while.

I unroll the parchment to find a neat print I've admired for its preciseness and aesthetic, but never expected would line a piece of paper addressed to me.

The note is brief, and I can imagine the person who wrote it saying out loud:

_Weasley, _

_**Try **__to arrive early to club meeting tomorrow. Must discuss advertisement in first issue of newspaper._

_D.M._

I sit there, letting this sink in. My eyes are still burning from the missive, even though I've read it several times.

It's nothing, really. But it's from _him_, and it's so very Draco: snarky and precise. Not a request, more of an order.

I resist the urge to bring the parchment to my nose, and breathe deeply, or to even look up, towards him. I refuse to even think his name.

Setting the parchment down on the table, I fish out a quill from my bag, and write under his message.

_Fine._

_W._

I've deliberately kept it short, to avoid making my horrid penmanship any more obvious than it already is, compared to his beautiful print. Besides, what else would I write?

_Am tingly at the prospect of our meeting, see you then?_

Bah.

Although, I _am…_

And…you know what? That's exactly what I'll write.

"Fine" seems a little hypocritical and evasive to me, and I think we've established I hate underhandedness.

I've just decided I'll say what I mean, only I'll use my weapon of choice –_sarcasm_- to deflect Draco's attention from the complete truth behind my words.

Grabbing my wand, I tap at my writing lightly and watch as it disappears, leaving only Draco's neat print on the parchment.

Picking up my quill again, I bite at my bottom lip as I write:

_Malfoy,_

_I simply _**_tingle_**_ in anticipation of our meeting. I shall be there, and _**_YOU'RE WELCOME._**

_W._

Satisfied, but…_tingly_, I roll the parchment and tie it to the owl, watching in spite of myself as it flies towards the Slytherin table, to the white-blond head that lies straight in my line of vision.

I look from the bird to him, and discover that Draco's intense mercury eyes aren't fixed on the approaching owl at all, but on me.

Even as the bird lands elegantly on his shoulder, he continues to look at me. I suppress a shiver, but hold his gaze without blinking.

A moment later, Draco casually turns away, and takes the note from the owl. I watch with a steadily rising heart rate as his long, thin fingers unroll the parchment. He swiftly scans the missive, with a raised eyebrow, then crumples the paper and rolls his eyes, but doesn't look at me again.

Relief washes through me.

He swallowed it; hook, line, and everything.

**X**

The next afternoon, I'm walking down the third floor corridor, towards the room where I first became aware of my increasing obsession for Draco Malfoy, one week ago.

I rue the hour I ever set foot into that room, the moment I laid eyes on him and saw him, really saw him, and heard him speak.

The last time I had these many feelings for someone, I was hurt by default; Harry never even so much as acknowledged that he knew of my feelings for him, and I was left to fall in and out of love with him entirely on my own.

It was pathetic, and very painful, too.

I refuse to let that happen to me again. I like this guy, I like him a lot, but I can't let myself get hurt like that.

Pausing in front of the wooden door like I did the last time, I straighten my tie and pleated skirt. My hair, which is cut in layers, the longest of which reaches down past my waist, is hanging loosely, framing my face in a way that I know is becoming.

Hey, just because I've decided to stop liking him, doesn't mean I don't want to look good in front of Draco.

It's thirty minutes to club time, Mickey informs me. Steeling myself, I raise my hand to the door, and knock.

"Come in," a deep, cultured voice calls out from inside the room.

I haven't even laid eyes on him yet, and already Draco's voice is making my heart beat a little faster.

I turn the metal knob and open the door, sticking my head in to find Draco, whose back is to me, standing at a kitchen station that was most definitely _not_ there the last time I was here.

"Close the door behind you," the platinum blond says, not looking up. "I'm glad you're early, Weasley, as opposed to the last time."

_I'm _glad he's not looking at me, for it gives me the chance to study him openly as I walk in, closing the door behind me, as per his specification.

And, yes, I said I would stop, but bear with me.

Draco's wearing his hair pulled back in a careless chignon, drawing attention to his perfectly symmetrical face. The top buttons of his white oxford shirt are open, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Most surprising of all, he's holding a sharp looking kitchen knife in his left hand, and he's dicing onions on a wood cutting board with surprising dexterity.

Needless to say he's the picture of casual sexiness, and my legs suddenly feel like they're made of jelly.

I feel myself grow warm, and a drop of sweat slides down my spine. I can't say it's hot in here, though, so it must be me.

I'm standing by the counter, very close to Draco, and our difference in height is more obvious than ever. He doesn't quite tower over me, but I'd definitely have to stand on the tips of my toes if I were to kiss him, or he'd have to lower his face to mine.

Not that there's any reason why that would happen, but…_anyway_, I avert my eyes from the sight of him, and notice his gray jumper, green striped tie, and school robes are resting on the back of a nearby chair.

A moment later, my eyes stray back to Draco again, and I look at him in fascination.

"Enjoying the view?" he demands, turning his face and meeting my gaze. I notice his beautiful pewter colored eyes are red, and shimmering with tears.

I grin.

Draco Malfoy crying, now there's a sight.

Yeah, yeah, I'm well aware that it's the effect of the onions, but still, this is just too good to pass up.

"Need a hanky, Malfoy?" I ask innocently, folding my arms over my chest, and grinning evilly.

He snorts, and looks me up and down before turning back to his task.

I take in the other thing that surprised me upon my entering; we're standing at a long kitchen counter, with four stove top burners on one end, and varied ingredients spread out over the wooden surface.

Among other things, there's onions, garlic, green leafy things, two long boxes of spaghetti, a bowl of uncooked rice, several bottles of chilled cider, condiments, meat, cheese that's probably Parmeggiano-Reggiano, butter, and several pots and pans.

I realize -from having watched my mum cook- that Draco's doing the slicing and dicing that takes place before the actual cooking process does.

"What's this?" I say, admiring the way he's chopping the onions. If I tried that, I'd end up with several fingers less on my hand. "You're doing your own sous…chef…ing?" I say falteringly; I'm sure I've misused the word. It's not a verb. I'm not even sure what it is, at the moment.

Whatever…

I tread on resolutely, with a raised eyebrow. "I would have thought you'd have one of your minions do it for you."

Draco looks up, wiping away at his eyes with his forearm, which, I've noticed, is covered with the softest looking little white-blond hairs I've ever seen, and then looks at me again.

"'Sous-chef' is not a verb," he informs me haughtily.

I open my mouth to protest, and then scowl, saying nothing.

"And, I could have asked my _friend_ Gregory to do this for me, yes," he agrees, twisting his mouth. "But, believe it or not, Weasley, I actually _enjoy_ this."

I raise my eyebrows, both at Draco's use of the word 'friend' to refer to that blundering mooncalf, Goyle, and at his admission of enjoying something, most of all cooking; he's the aloof type, the kind that won't ever admit to being more than indifferent, at best, towards something.

But Draco really seems to be enjoying chopping stuff up, and he does it exceedingly well.

"You know what, Weasley," he says, sounding thoughtful, and not looking at me; my eyes scan his beautiful face hungrily, taking advantage of this. "I was thinking that, since you're not really in the club, per se, it's not required of you to learn to speak Italian, so we can skip you in the conversation today."

I blush furiously and look down, as if my worn, black Mary Janes had suddenly become fascinating to me.

But Draco, I've noticed, has an eye like a hawk. He pauses, knife poised over half an onion, and turns to look at me with unconcealed curiosity, tilting his head to the side.

My blush deepens.

"_Comprasti il libro?" _he inquires, his mercury eyes piercing mine._ "Cominciaste a imparare italiano?"_

My mind works furiously to translate into English, and I nod, biting my lip.

Draco just asked me if I've bought the book, and if I've started learning the language.

And here's the thing: there are two ways to say "you" in Italian; Draco referred to me in the familiar form, as opposed to the polite, impersonal form. I guess that's to be expected, because although we're not friends, he's just a year older than me. Still, it seems intimate and just…_sexy_, to me, and I'm trying hard not to blush.

"_Si_," I reply softly.

Draco's pewter colored eyes narrow and he looks at me intensely for a moment, before turning away. It's that same look he gave me when he was carrying me back to the castle the other day; as if all of his attention were entirely upon me, and nothing else.

His facial expression never changed, but I can tell that he is surprised, and even _pleased._

"You're earlier than I would have given you credit for. I just wanted to get this out of the way first," Draco says abruptly, wiping his knife on a kitchen towel I just noticed is hanging from his belt, at his left hip. "I should be done in a couple of minutes."

I say nothing. I've been trying to keep myself from looking at him too much, for fear I might start drooling. Do you have any idea how sexy this boy is?

He reaches for the peppers now, and continues the task, running his knife through the bright green vegetables with grace and speed.

"Whoever cooks has to arrive early to have things ready for the actual cooking demonstration," he says absently, as he continues to slice. "Otherwise the club will turn into a cooking class."

I look at him with surprise. "You're really serious about this, aren't you, Malfoy? And you really want people from other Houses to join…"

"I think we've had this conversation before, Weasley," Draco says, his lovely voice laced with impatience.

"No, we haven't, _Malfoy,_" I counter, meeting his eyes. "You've evaded my questions. There are things I need to know as background for the article. I don't think I need to tell you that it's in your best interest for the article to be as informative as possible, but you're not helping."

Draco rolls his eyes around, and then looks down at me again. His face is slightly lowered, and mine is raised.

"What is it that you want to know?"

"Why?" I ask, tilting my head to the side, in subconscious imitation of his earlier gesture.

"Why, _what_?" he asks, not breaking eye contact.

I sigh; here we go again.

"_Why _are you doing this?" I ask patiently. "Why the interest in bringing Italian culture to Hogwarts students? And where did you learn all of this from? Where did you learn how to speak Italian?"

Draco gives a long suffering sigh, not unlike my own, as he continues to dice vegetables. "As background, you say? I don't see how this is relevant, but I'll humor you, for now, so long as this remains confidential."

"Fine."

Draco looks at me, but says nothing.

I roll my eyes and wait, and realize he, too, seems to be waiting for something.

"Well?"

"Aren't you going to take notes, like a Rita Skeeter wanna-be?" he demands finally.

I glare at him.

"Fine," he says, pointing at me with his knife. "_Don't_ take notes, but if you misquote me, I'll have your newspaper shut down faster than you can say 'tabloid fodder'."

"Will you get _on_ with it?" I snap, but my expression softens, for I'm sensing Draco's unease at being asked to open up. "I'm not going to publish this, I told you," I say gently, "I just want some background, so I can understand this better. Where did you learn to speak Italian?"

The lovely line of Draco's jaw becomes taut.

"My mum," he says, at last. "My mum's Italian."

Ah.

This I did not know.

I _do_ know that Narcissa Malfoy is part Veela; I've heard of her legendary beauty, which is _in part_ responsible for Draco's stunning good looks –let's be honest here, Lucius Malfoy may be the sorriest excuse for a human being you'll find, but he's more than just easy on the eyes.

"My mum taught me everything I know about Italy," Draco continues softly. "She loves her culture, and I thought…I thought it would make her happy, if I did this." His fine eyebrows have contracted into a slight frown, and I have the urge to reach out and smooth them with my fingertips.

"She hasn't been - I guess _nobody's_ been - happy, in a long time…"

You can say that again, I think, as he raises his pewter colored eyes to mine.

There's something flickering in them, something heavy, like sadness.

I never imagined Draco could look this vulnerable, but he does, if only briefly, and he's never been as beautiful to me.

I realize I've set my hands on the table, one on top of the other, and I'm actually leaning in towards him as far as I dare, like a flower towards the sun.

"Besides," Draco says, sounding thoughtful, his eyes falling on my hands. "Inter-House unity sounds stupid-"

"But it's not," I finish for him.

We look at each other in silence, and, I hope, understanding.

I guess it's something we've all felt, everyone who's been through the war, I mean.

When all is said and done, clinging to your past conceptions and affiliations may be safe, but it's also stupid.

We're all survivors, really, and it's up to us to build something better than what was there before. Nobody wants for this pointless strife to be perpetuated.

These are things I know I'll never hear Draco Malfoy -or any of the other thinking heads at Slytherin- actually _saying_, but actions speak louder than words, or so my dad always says, anyway.

Lucius Malfoy is in jail, and will remain there for life, in all probability. Now that he is gone from Draco's life, it seems he's been doing some thinking…but I never expected he would arrive to these astounding conclusions. I guess the war did make some things change, after all.

I smile at Draco, without realizing that I'm doing it. Fortunately, his attention is on his cooking ingredients again.

"Where did you learn how to cook?" I ask, before I can stop myself.

He looks up at me again, and raises an eyebrow. "Is this for your article, or are you just being meddlesome?"

"_Curious_," I amend, resting my elbows on the table now, and my chin on my hands.

"Yeah, well. Curiosity killed the cat, and whatnot," Draco says, as he unwraps the meat.

He puts it on top of the cutting board and begins to dice it into small pieces.

I feel like reaching over and taking one of the meat cubes, which look like some kind of salami, but decide against it…in all probability the temperamental blond will swat my hand away.

I watch his graceful, precise movements, entranced. It's obvious he feels comfortable enough in my presence to have forgotten about me, I think, watching him work; suddenly Draco raises his eyes to mine and says, "My father taught me how to cook."

I gape, and fortunately am too shocked to blurt what I'm thinking, which is something I'm sure would make him hate me forever: _"Death Eaters teach their sons how to cook?!"_

"Hand me that bag with the bay-leaves, please," he says absently, and I grin to myself.

I think Draco's the only person I know who consciously suppresses his politeness, and only lets it out when he forgets to.

He takes the bag from me with a murmured "Thank you," and begins to inspect the leaves within.

"_Prego_," I say softly, and he looks up at me again.

A strand of pale hair falls over Draco's eyes, and his beautiful lips quirk into something between a smile and a smirk. His face is inclined towards me, and I realize the upper half of his body is twisted towards me as well, no longer facing the kitchen counter. His beautiful hands are still.

"_Buono_," he says, looking into me with those stunning eyes of his, and nodding once.

It's nothing, it's just a word, but to me, it's like being tossed a bouquet of roses.

We're looking at each other in silence, and I feel my heartbeat slow down, almost painfully.

If I stood on the tips of my toes…

Suddenly, the door to the room bursts open, and Athena Krauss saunters in. Her skirt is a bit shorter than is regulation, and her beautiful curls are bouncing behind her and framing her pretty face as she walks in.

Athena takes in the scene before her, and her brow creases in obvious displeasure for the briefest of moments. A heartbeat later she masks it, and smiles obsequiously.

"_Ciao, _Draco," she says sweetly.

"Don't you _knock?_" he demands coldly, but his face is expressionless.

He's also ignored her greeting entirely, and her as well, for he's turned down to his cutting board again.

"What if Weasley and I had been snogging, or perhaps more than that, on this here table?" he inquires haughtily, as he continues to dice meat cubes. "How embarrassed would _you_ be, right about now?"

Athena's eyebrows shoot up her forehead, but mine are up _way_ past my hairline by then.

Also, a dark flush has spread over my cheeks; I can tell by the intense way my face is burning.

The dark haired girl shoots me a nasty glare, as if this were all _my_ fault.

"_Perdonami, _Draco_"_ she says quickly, turning the blond again._"Vengo in anticipo a vedere se posso essere di auito."_

It's obvious Athena's spoken in Italian in a desperate –and I might I add, _rude_- attempt to block me out of the conversation, but her efforts are wasted.

That's right, bitch -I think smugly- I can understand everything you're saying! Ha, ha.

And I can, too, more or less. Not in vain have I been cramming Italian for this meeting as if it were a new addition to my end-of-year O.W.L.s.

I'll have you know she just said she was sorry for not knocking, and that she came early to see if Draco needed help.

The platinum blond in question looks up from his work, and fixes the girl with a cold glance of his steel gray eyes.

"You've come to _help?"_ he says, in _English_, mind you, and disdain colors his voice. "I do wish that silly Hat would stop sorting Hufflepuffs into Slytherin."

Athena blushes furiously, and I realize, by the way she's blinking rapidly and her lips are tightly pressed, that she's holding back tears.

I'm surprised at the way Draco's treating her, and yet I'm really not. I've seen this top dog attitude in Blaise. He puts younger Slytherin boys, and people from other Houses, "in their place"; Draco, apparently, does it to _anyone_.

A moment later, however, it becomes obvious to me that this isn't just gratuitous upper-classmen disciplining.

"Draco, I didn't mean to tell anyone!" Athena says pleadingly, looking at the blond with wide, brown eyes.

He seems to be ignoring her completely, slicing mushrooms, now, with clinical precision.

"Sarah is my best friend," she adds quickly. "I didn't think she would tell anyone else…"

Draco looks up at her again, and his eyes are so hard and so cold, it sends shivers down _my_ spine. I can only imagine how Athena, who's crying openly by now, must be feeling.

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about, Krauss, nor do I _care_," Draco says softly, meeting her eyes.

Athena looks stricken. "Draco, please…" she says, choking a sob.

"And I appreciate your…_offer_," the blond adds, his eyes raking up and down the girl's body swiftly before he turns back to the cutting board again. "But I find I've lost the little interest I had to begin with…"

I watch Athena flinch, as if Draco had slapped her across the face. Given the circumstances, I'm pretty sure she would have preferred he had.

For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the soft tap of Draco's knife against the wooden board as it slides through the mushrooms, and the gentle sniffling of the girl next to him.

"You can go now," he says, turning to look her straight in the eye. "If I need a House Elf, I'll be sure to call for one."

Athena wipes at her eyes furiously, and glares at me again, then runs out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Draco turns back to the cutting board, and continues slicing mushrooms, _as if_ _nothing had happened._

"Never kiss and tell, Weasley," he says thoughtfully, after a while. "It's bad form. Now hand me that head of garlic, will you?"

I glance down, my shoulders still tense from what I've just witnessed. The head of garlic is there, right in front of me, but I don't move.

The thought of Draco looking at Athena in the same way that he looked at me, of them _kissing_, causes a stab of unexpected pain to go through me.

I'm wondering if I really want to be involved with this guy.

I mean, come on, you _know_ my resolve to move on burst into flames as soon as I laid eyes on Draco cooking. Or pre-cooking, anyway.

I want him; I want him so, _so_ much. And yet, he is _such_ a jerk, and a _slut_, which is worse...

Draco looks up at me, raising a delicate eyebrow. He stretches over deliberately, and reaches for the head of garlic himself, his silver gray eyes never leaving mine.

"Don't be upset, Weasley," he says, a bit mockingly, and his full lips are curved into a smirk. "Athena despises you, anyway. Your girly solidarity is wasted on her."

My eyebrows shoot up again.

I've always known Athena hates me –I think it's Quidditch envy; she tried out for Slytherin, but didn't make it.

Anyway, I wouldn't have thought Draco would have noticed.

Once again, I am in awe of him; he misses _nothing_.

"I don't care if she hates me," I say resolutely, "That was horrible, and I'm sorry I had to see it."

"Yeah, it really was…" Draco says, sighing dramatically. Then he looks at me, grinning wickedly. "Want to bet seven sickles she'll be back when the meeting starts?"

I glare at him. _"No."_

"Ah, you're no fun," he says, wiping his knife again. "And anyway," he adds suddenly, "It's not like I wanted to snog her. I just let _her_ snog _me_, and all of a sudden, we're Slytherin's new lovebirds. The _nerve_ of that girl," he huffs, sounding genuinely indignant.

I stare at him.

Why is he telling me this?

Draco cuts into the garlic, and then looks at me thoughtfully.

He's so fucking beautiful, and I could stare back at him forever, but I'm starting to become unnerved by the way he's looking at me.

_What?_

"Want some apple cider?" Draco says at last.

"_What_?" I voice, raising my eyebrows.

"It's Sardinian," he says, tapping one of the bottles I'd noticed earlier with his wand. The cork flies off, and bounces against the wall harmlessly. "My mum sent me a case of it. It's got very low alcoholic content."

Draco gestures to the bottle, and I shrug, pouring myself a bit into a glass.

I can't help but notice that I seem to have earned Draco's respect with my efforts in Italian, something my outstanding flying, and even my smutty stories, weren't able to accomplish.

I take a tentative sip of cider, and feel it bubble, sweet and tangy all at once, in my mouth.

"It's really good," I say, taking a bigger gulp. "If it's poison, I'm done for..."

"You know what I _like_ about you, Weasley?" Draco says suddenly, turning the full intensity of his gaze on me.

I lift my eyebrows, waiting.

He looks at me in silence, as if weighing me.

"What?" I demand cautiously. "My razor-sharp wit? My deliciously sarcastic humor?"

"Exactly," he says, unwrapping the cheese and reaching for the grater. "Got it in one. That, and the fact that you don't throw yourself at me, like other girls do." He pauses, and looks me straight in the eye.

I suppress a shiver.

"Your self-restraint is admirable," Draco says softly, sounding dead serious.

I stare at him in amazement, and then burst out laughing, snorting cider through my nose.

It burns like _hell_, but I cover my nose with my hands and throw my head back, laughing harder than I have in a long time.

I don't know how much of a cynic Draco Malfoy is. Does he know he's hit the mark, bull's eye? I can't be sure.

He's looking at me with amusement now.

"Oh, _good_ one, Weasley, way to go," he says, shaking his fair head. "There are some napkins over there." He gestures with his knife towards the stovetop, and I hasten towards it.

All too soon people start to arrive, and glancing at my watch, I realize it's nearly time to start the meeting.

I've been basking in the light of Draco's familiarity with me, and the fact that he's asked for my help, and time just flew for me.

The club attendees look at me with curiosity, but no one says anything, or dares approach us. People hang around in small groups, chatting animatedly.

Draco's grating cheese like there's no tomorrow, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

I don't know if it's the frantic, repetitive, up-and-down motions, but I'm finding it sexy as hell, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm all hot and bothered.

Also, Draco's referring to the counter top as a potential site for a naughty kitchen encounter between us has made disturbingly vivid images pop up in my mind.

There's an indecent little tingle below my waist now, as I watch him. His beautiful face set is with concentration, and there's a delicate sheen of sweat lining his brow as he continues to move up and down, up and down…gods…I'm starting to get seriously turned on.

Draco looks up at me, and I turn back to the pot I'm filling with water for the pasta, trying hard not to blush.

My heart is _soaring_…

And then Cho fucking Chang waltzes in, and my world crumbles like a house of cards.

I set the pot of water on the stove top with remarkably steady hands, as my heart freezes over.

Draco's back is to her and he remains oblivious, but I observe as the beautiful Asian girl fixes her eyes on the platinum blond. It's like a hawk spotting a baby squirrel, or whatever it is they eat.

A moment later she walks up to him, and wraps her arms around his narrow waist, pressing herself to his body tightly.

Draco turns his lovely face to the side and sees her, and although his expression doesn't change, there's warmth in his voice when he says, "Jou-chan…"

I look at them together, and it's not hard to see why they were so fascinating when they became a couple.

There are tons of reasons, but mostly it's the fact that they're both so beautiful.

And then she's a year older than he is, and he dumped his eternal fling, Pansy Parkinson, for her; the whole school saw their romance evolve from attraction and sexual tension on the Quidditch pitch to walking down the hallways, holding hands.

It was all the rage.

They were like the Posh and Becks of Hogwarts.

It's like nothing you've ever seen before.

It was, like I said, fascinating while it was happening, and it seems they're trying for a comeback.

I don't need to tell you that my heart is lying bleeding and crumpled on the floor, instead of at its usual place in my chest, do I? Well, it's not just that; my stomach feels heavy, as if I'd swallowed a bowling ball, and the back of my throat has constricted painfully.

I realize that if I stay here, things will end badly for me.

With that in mind, I begin to edge away discreetly, but Cho's almond shaped eyes fall on me then.

"Hey Weasley!" she chirps, still wrapped tightly around Draco's mid-section, with her gorgeous face pressed to his back.

I've _never_ seen her this cheerful. I think back to our last staff meeting, and realize Cho really does transform when there's a hot guy around.

As I watch, her blood-red lips curve into that sort-of smile she reserves for girls she doesn't disdain. There's precious few of us at Hogwarts, let me tell you.

"Hey, Chang," I return, nodding. Seeing as this is my standard greeting for Cho, I pull it off without much effort.

Draco, who's still grating cheese, trapped as he is in Cho's arms, pauses to look up at me in a way I can't decipher, and then turns back to his task.

"I came to see what this club was all about," Cho says, and I'm pretty sure it's to Draco, seeing as she's looking over his shoulder, and she never uses that throaty, sexy voice when she talks to _me_. "And, I brought some back-up…"

Draco and I turn towards the door, where there's a delegation of Ravenclaws standing around, mostly seventh years, though there's a sixth year, here and there.

To my surprise, Corrine Braxton, the same girl who got humiliated and thrown out of _our_ club -i.e. the newspaper- by Cho Chang, is among them, standing there in animated conversation with Blaise Zabini.

Ravenclaws.

I really don't know what to make of them, sometimes. It's like, deep down, they're just Slytherins who are too lazy –or perhaps, too indifferent- to bother being evil.

To think that the Sorting Hat tried to convince me to be in the House of the Raven… I've never told anyone that, by the way; Weasleys are supposed to be nothing but Gryffindor material.

But I digress.

I watch with a beating, bleeding, heart as Cho disengages herself from Draco, and checks out his ass, none-too discreetly.

He's finished grating cheese -finally- and after washing his hands, wipes them on his kitchen towel.

As he unhooks the towel from his belt and sets it down on the tabletop, Cho reaches out for some cheese, and Draco slaps her hand away in one swift, graceful motion.

_"Ow!"_ she protests, glaring at him accusingly. "That hurt!"

"Good, because I planned it that way," Draco snaps, raising a delicate eyebrow. "Have you washed your hands, Chang? Who knows what you've been doing, and now you think you can just burst in and touch things, and get your girl germs all over them?"

Cho pouts, and Draco, towering before her, hunches his shoulders and mimics her facial expression.

They glare at each other for a moment, like two gigantic, impossibly cute, pouty babies. It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen, and I want to throw up.

"Ah, we can play later, little miss. Go round up your cohorts," Draco orders her, and Cho sticks her tongue out at him, but scampers off to do his bidding.

Okay, more likes _saunters_ off, but you get the point.

"Weasley, you babbled away our time, and we didn't even discuss the ads," he tells me, as he begins to walk gracefully towards the table we sat around at the last meeting. "Now I'll have to meet with you again."

Draco's halfway to the table when he realizes that I remain frozen in place.

He turns to look at me, and it's obvious he's expecting me to follow after him, so I do, propelling my body forward like an automaton.

I take two steps, and nearly collide with Blaise Zabini, who's looking dark and handsome as ever.

He nods at me and says, "Hey, Weasley," as if we'd always been on pleasant speaking terms, although it's the first time he doesn't just insult me for all greeting.

"Hi, Blaise," I say absently, and catch his raised eyebrows as I walk away.

He's obviously surprised at my use of his given name, but I'm too stricken to care.

Draco, by now standing at the head of the table, draws his wand, and taps the side of a chair loudly.

"Gather around," he commands, and there's a sudden, absolute silence.

People surround us, listening attentively as Draco continues to speak.

I would be seven sickles short if I'd accepted Draco's bet, and I can't say I'm surprised to see Athena coming towards us, trying to get as close to the beautiful platinum blond as possible.

Cho also approaches us, coming to stand beside him, like she's the First Lady, or something, and I guess she sort of is.

"We'll begin by making introductions in Italian," Draco says, scanning the faces of those present. "Who you are, what you do to amuse yourselves, that sort of thing. I care about your pronunciation, not you, so don't put a lot of thought into what you're going to say, but _how_ you say it."

I knew this was coming, and I prepared an introduction for myself, a very simple one.

I rehearsed it several times, until it sounded perfect. Even my childish little voice doesn't ruin the way these words flow from me.

_Mi chiamo Ginevra. Ho quindici anni. Mi piace molto volare, e mangiare cioccolato, o qualsiasi dolci, realmente...bla bla..._

I know it by heart.

Also, I know that if I stay in this room, with Draco and Cho, I'll burst into tears at any moment.

I had started to hope again, you see.

Draco continues speaking; he's started with an example of an introduction in Italian.

I begin to inch my way towards the edge of the group, and freeze when I see Draco's silver gray eyes rest on me.

When he looks away, I start to move again, not daring to look back at him.

"_Mi chiamo Draco-"_

I hear him say, just before I walk out of the room, and hot, bitter tears slide down my face.

**X**

**

* * *

  
**

_Dissimulazione: _concealment.

_Si:_ yes.

_Prego:_ you're welcome.

_Buono:_ good.

_Ciao_: hello.

_Mi chiamo Ginevra. Ho quindici anni. Mi piace molto volare, e mangiare cioccolato, o qualsiasi dolci, realmente..._

My name is Ginevra. I am fifteen years old. I like to fly, and I like to eat chocolates, or all kinds of sweets, really…

**NOTE:** Gah, this chapter was so hard to write! I rewrote it tons of times, and struggled so much with it. I just really wanted to deepen D and G's connection a bit, before we move on. Anyway, I don't know about you, but my favorite part here was the Draco-grating-cheese-like-a-maniac part, and Ginny's naughty, naughty thoughts… ;p

**Now, this is where YOU, dear reader, come in: REVIEW! (please?)**

**ANOTHER NOTE: **Shameless plug moment! Mwa hahahha! (I _love_ laughing like that. Have you noticed?)

I've posted a new fic, it's a short one-shot by the name of **"Apres Moi Le Deluge"** ("After me, the flood") and it has a very interesting _twist_...I'll say no more... Please check it out, and tell me what you think!


	6. Scontro

Another long chapter for my faithful readers. You guys rock! Thanks so much. :)

**NOTES:  
**_-Scontro_ means _Clash.  
_

_-_Also, an anonymous reviewer, **Anya**, asked a question I was expecting all along: _"Why does Draco cook without using magic?"  
_

Well, if you recall, he learned to cook at home, and he's sixteen years old. Wizards aren't allowed to perform magic outside of school until they come of age, so our favorite platinum blond Slyth would have learned to cook without using magic, which is why he continues to cook that way, though he could very well use magic at Hogwarts.  
Also, Anya, as you pointed out – and Draco himself pointed out to Ginny - he **likes** chopping up stuff! ;)

-I love answering questions, so ask away, and thanks so much for all your wonderful feedback! Keep those reviews coming!

On to the aptly named -you'll see why, soon- "Clash"...

* * *

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Six: "Scontro"**

_Looking at life through the eyes of a tire hub,  
Flashlight reveries caught in the headlights of a truck,  
Eating seeds as a past time activity,  
The toxicity of our city, of our city,_

_New, what, do you own the world?  
How do you own disorder, disorder?  
Now, somewhere between the sacred silence,  
Sacred silence and sleep,  
Somewhere, between the sacred silence and sleep,  
Disorder, disorder, disorder._

_When I became the sun,  
I shone life into the man's hearts,  
When I became the sun,  
I shone life into the man's hearts._

--"Toxicity" by System of a Down

**X**

I crawl back to Gryffindor Tower, my heart slashed into little pieces, as if Draco had run his knife through it, too.

It's so much easier to face things when you've got no expectations.

I had started to imagine things were moving forward between us, but now I realize that I've been an idiot _again_- like so many times in the past.

Won't I ever learn?

"_Shish kebab_," I tell the Fat Lady desolately.

She swings open, granting me entrance, and I step through wiping at my eyes discreetly.

When I walk into the Gryffindor common room, which I expect will be bustling with the happy activity of a Friday afternoon, I discover instead a grim, silent environment.

For one thing, there are only five people present: Seamus Finnigan, sitting in hushed conversation with Dean Thomas, Shawn sitting in the red armchair by the fire, watching Seamus and pretending to read, and Harry and Ron playing wizard's chess, both wearing identical expressions of misery.

As I walk up to these last two, I catch Shawn's raised eyebrows.

I look back at her with raised eyebrows of my own, and she grimaces, gesturing in the direction of the girls' dormitory.

"What's going on?" I demand of the two boys, who look up at me guiltily. "Where's Hermione?"

Ron blushes as red as his hair at this question, and his messy-haired best friend bites his lip.

"Ginny, I'm glad you're here," Harry says finally, taking a deep breath.

I quirk an eyebrow skeptically; there once was a time when these words would have made my little heart soar with happiness, but at the moment I find I'm just wary.

"_Why?"_ I ask suspiciously, giving Harry a shrewd look. "What happened?"

Harry blushes, but meets my eyes. "We need you to go talk to Hermione…"

Ron flushes an even darker shade of red at these words, and I turn to him accusingly. "What have you done, _Ronald_?" I demand of him.

"I didn't mean to!" he cries, jumping to his feet. "It just slipped out, okay? We were talking about the new place the twins found in Hogsmeade, the one they're going to rent out, and, well…you know how Fred said he might move there…"

My eyes widen, and my jaw drops in amazement.

Fred and George owled Ron and I yesterday to tell us they'd found a very promising place, near the Shrieking Shack, which they were seriously considering renting out. And Fred did, indeed, mention that he was thinking of moving there- _with Angelina_…

"RON! I can't believe you told _Hermione_!" I cry incredulously. "How could you be so _stupid?"_

"I'm SORRY!" he says, sounding, and _looking_, really remorseful; in fact, he's almost on the verge of tears.

I take it Hermione's reaction was heartbreaking, which is more or less what I expected, and why I made sure to not be the one to spill the beans.

"Ginny_, please,_" Harry says to me, standing, as well. "Leave off Ron, he feels bad enough, and he really didn't meant to babble everything."

I cross my arms and glare at my brother, but I know Harry's right... My expression softens, and I shake my head.

I sigh, turning towards the direction of the girls' dorm, where -if I've interpreted Shawn's miming correctly- Hermione has entrenched herself.

"I'm sorry, Ron," I say, turning to him. "Of course you didn't mean to."

My brother hangs his head. He looks so very pitiful that I throw myself at him, giving him a quick hug, before heading off in the direction of the room Hermione shares with three other girls.

As I walk up the stairs briskly, I exchange nods with Bethesda Williams, a third year, while briefly wondering how Ron managed to keep himself from babbling this long; it was only a matter of time, really.

I've reached the top of the stairs and turn left, walking down the corridor that leads to Hermione's room, squaring my shoulders and steeling myself for what I no doubt will encounter.

When I get to the closed door, I don't bother knocking and burst right in. I'm not surprised to find the room is empty, and heavy scarlet and gold curtains are drawn around Hermione's bed.

"Mione?" I say cautiously, inching towards the bed. "It's me, Ginny…"

I wince.

I'm sure Hermione will be bawling, and I'm not sure what I'll be able to do to comfort her. I don't even have a tissue on me, and I'm not very good around other girls…except Shawn, but then, she's _Shawn._

Also, not much crying goes on in my house- not even during the war. We're all experienced when it comes to grief, but there are no criers in the Weasley family, not even my mum, which is odd, when you think about it, but then, perhaps not.

The point is, I'm totally inadequate for this task, and I know it. The only reason why this has fallen on me is that I'm a girl, and the few extra bits in Harry and Ron's anatomies wouldn't let them get past the wards at the entrance of the girls' dorms.

So here I am, and if you think that being in possession of a uterus is a guarantee of being sensitive, I'll tell you you're _wrong_, my friend…

I make it to the foot of the bed, and take a deep breath before giving the curtains a light tug, opening a space to take a peek inside.

What I see nearly breaks my already bruised heart.

Hermione's lying curled up in a fetal position, her face buried into a pillow, with her long, golden-brown hair –no longer bushy thanks to the use of certain spells- cascading down her back. Her entire body is shaking with silent sobs, which are so violent they make the entire bed tremble. The fact that there's no sound makes it even worse to see, as if she were denying herself even this small relief.

I've only seen Hermione crying once, and it was nothing like this; we _all_ sort of cried, when Sirius died. We cried for Harry, mostly, for his pain. At least _I_ did, because I didn't know Sirius very well.

But that was making water with your eyes, and having it slide down your face. Kind of like me, five minutes ago, when I surrendered Draco to the clutches of the most beautiful girl at school. It was nothing like this. _This_ is heart wrenching; the muted expression of utter _grief_.

Hermione lifts her face up to mine, and I see that her soulful brown eyes are red, and wet with her tears, as are her cheeks. However, it's not the tears, but the _pain_ I read there that makes my heart catch, and I don't have to think about what to do anymore.

I slip in through the curtain and wrap my arms around her, murmuring that it's going to be alright, though, in all honesty, I'm not so sure it will be.

**X**

Two hours later I'm walking down to dinner with Ron, Harry, and Shawn.

When we round a corner I walk straight into Paul Keegan. I teeter a bit, reaching out to him instinctively, and suddenly he grabs me by the arms to still me. Our eyes meet, and we smile at each other.

I murmur I'm sorry, and he answers "it's no trouble," in that clipped upper class accent that I've always admired in Draco.

A moment later we side step each other, but his eyes are still on me as I walk away.

Shawn, who's coming up behind me, drives her elbow in between my ribs and raises her eyebrows, grinning widely.

I glare at her and continue down the stairs.

Paul Keegan is a seventh year Ravenclaw, and he's…cute. Well, not just _cute_, actually. He's exactly like a 'Paul': tall, handsome, with dark hair, beautiful blue eyes and the perfect build for Quidditch, except he's not really into sports. He's more the intellectual type, and refused to be Head Boy, though he was the first seventh year considered for the part.

What does this have to do with me? Absolutely nothing.

There you go.

Oh wait. He dated _Cho Chang_, if only briefly (but then, what handsome guy at Hogwarts hasn't?), and apparently this is the reason why he's not in the newspaper staff, though he seems like he'd fit in well: he and Cho just don't get along.

Weird, huh? I wouldn't think the rapacious Ravenclaw that is Cho Chang would burn her bridges with a handsome, wealthy boy…

Gah. I'm being catty.

So yeah, we continue on our way to the Great Hall. A grim silence has fallen on us, and only Shawn chatters away, not about Seamus, for once, but about the fact that she'll miss the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, thanks to "that greasy haired old bastard".

I'm actually relieved to hear Shawn's incessant talking, even if it entails the slandering of one of my two favorite people at Hogwarts, (guess who the other one is?), just like I was relieved that something caught my full attention today, distracting me from Draco and what happened at the club.

I know, I'm a horrible person; that 'something' was Hermione's emotional meltdown, which kept my own at bay.

Now that I'm not comforting Hermione, or yelling at Ron, and Shawn's finally shut up, I have nothing to keep my mind -or my emotions- occupied.

We walk into the Great Hall and my eyes immediately dart to the Slytherin table, where Draco's already started eating, with Blaise at his side.

I tear my eyes away from the sight of him, but not before I notice that he's eating chocolate ice cream sundae for dinner.

I love chocolate ice cream…and…

Anyway!

I'm wondering why Draco –who seems to be some kind of health nut, if you've noticed- would be eating ice cream for dinner. Then I recall that he cooked spaghetti and Italian rice at the club a little earlier, so he's probably still full from that.

I wish I could have watched him actually cooking, and I wish I could have tasted his food.

My mum says that when she cooks, she puts a little bit of herself into each dish. The thought is kind of gross and disturbing, I've always felt, but when I apply it to the platinum blond Slytherin, I can't help but wondering what a little bit of Draco would taste like…

Sigh.

Hmm. I'm getting kinky, and weird, so, uh, moving on…

I sit down at the dinner table, in between Shawn and Ron, as per usual.

On the other side of my brother, Harry communicates with Luna, who's sitting at the Ravenclaw table, through silent gestures.

I watch as the blond girl smiles sweetly, albeit a bit dreamily, at something Harry just "said".

She makes a crinkling gesture with her right index finger, brings it to her lips, and points at Harry, who smiles back.

It's a 'Harry smile', too; one of those rare, honest to goodness smiles that seem to come straight from Harry's heart, lighting up his entire face and making his green eyes sparkle, like emeralds.

I blush and quickly avert my gaze, embarrassed to have seen that much, but glad and oddly _sad_ at the same time.

My eyes flick to Draco of their own accord, and I see he's talking animatedly with Theodore Nott while feeding Aiken Dunn some of his ice cream, guiding his spoon into her greedy little mouth.

I look away and pick at my dinner for a while, until I can't keep up the pretense of eating anymore.

I turn to Shawn, but she's talking to Seamus, and he's actually responding, for once- only he's telling her he doesn't like blond hair.

Did I mention Shawn is blond? Did I mention Seamus is, too?

He can be such a bitch, sometimes.

I turn to Ron, and he's glum and silent- wracked with guilt, no doubt. Harry is silent as well, and occasionally looks towards the Ravenclaw table in the direction of Luna.

Hermione's absence is evident in the space across from Ron, and if this is something that even _I'm_ painfully aware of, I can't imagine what it's like for my brother.

Reaching over, I give him an awkward pat on the back and peck his cheek lightly with my lips. He doesn't even mock me for it with the "what, going all girly on me now?" that is customary whenever I do something remotely feminine in front of my brother.

This is serious.

This is the most depressing dinner ever- even more so than that time that Fleur and her parents came to The Burrow for dinner, when she got engaged to Bill; I remember sitting there, picking at my cottage pie, and feeling as if Bill had been diagnosed with a terminal disease; (named Phlegm).

Murmuring that I want to go check on Hermione, I leave my table and heads towards the entrance to the Great Hall, forcing myself to look straight ahead.

"Hey, Gin!" someone calls out.

I raise my head to discover Justin Finch-Fletchley passing by my right, grinning at me. His brown hair is curly, and very…cute. He has the head of a cherub, really. He's also had a crush on me for a while, and I did go on a rather pleasant date with him, once.

Alas, he's a Hufflepuff, and well…I was looking for something more exciting. A boy with an edge. Enter Michael Corner, and we all know how well _that_ turned out.

"Hey Justin," I reply, mustering a half smile, and accelerating my pace to discourage him from joining me.

He doesn't even try, and I realize he's heading for dinner.

How pretentious of me, really, to think he would just drop everything and follow me, like a lovesick puppy.

I shake my head and walk out of the Great Hall.

As I amble mindlessly down the deserted corridor, I hear the echo of my own footfalls, and watch my dark, elongated shadow playing against the polished floor.

I don't really feel like facing Hermione at the moment…I think I'll go straight to my room.

"Weasley," a deep voice smooth as silk drawls from behind me, and wanton chills run down my spine.

How does he _do_ that?

My heart races as I turn to find Draco Malfoy standing there, in all of his platinum blond splendor. His arms are folded over his chest, and his silky hair is loose over his shoulders; it catches the light from the overhanging chandeliers, shining like white gold.

Draco's pewter colored eyes are fixed on me intently as I stand there, gawking at him like an idiot.

No, really- how _did_ he do that? He must have run out of the Great Hall, or something.

The thought fills me with a wild sort of elation, and I try to keep my voice steady as I ask "What?"

Draco's looking at me calmly, but I've been watching all of his expressions and mannerisms so lovingly that I can more or less see through him now. I can tell, by a certain tightness in his jaw, and a tension in his shoulders, that this relaxed stance is mostly a pose.

In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Draco Malfoy is _angry_. There's a powerful energy coming from him, like sparks, and I tremble all the more.

"You left the club meeting without so much as excusing yourself," he says curtly, and -dense as I sometimes am- I can't help but catch the hint of accusation in his tone.

I blush, looking down, as my heart hammers away in my chest.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't stay," I say, biting my lip; I force myself to look up at him, and, after a moment, manage to actually do it. "Something came up."

Draco raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. "You're not even going to bother making up a _plausible _excuse?" he inquires.

"Draco," I protest, his name flying out of my lips before I can stop it.

He doesn't react, but continues to look at me in silence, his steel gray eyes burning into mine.

"I really couldn't stay," I say, not breaking eye contact. "Though I wanted to… really…I'm sorry."

Draco looks at me impassively, but walks up to me suddenly, as if he'd just decided to.

My eyes are pinned to his, and though I'm trying to, I just can't look away.

I'm hoping desperately I'm concealing my emotions well, for at the moment I want nothing more than to throw myself at him. And the thing is, he just told me, not two hours ago, that he liked me because _I _didn't like _him_.

I can't imagine what his reaction would be, were I to act on what I'm feeling.

Disappointment? Disgust?

I would hate to see that look in his eyes, that look of disdain and almost loathing he gave Athena Krauss earlier today.

Draco is standing in front of me, looking down into my face. He's so close to me that his folded arms would be brushing my chest, if I were to let out the breath I'm holding.

I'm looking into his silver eyes and it hurts me, almost. I find myself wanting to close my eyes, to shield them from the sight of his; why does he make me feel so vulnerable?

"_Sorry_, are you?" Draco whispers softly, his eyes, clear as winter ice, piercing mine implacably. "You don't get to do that again. The next time you leave like that, don't bother coming back."

I stare up at him mutely, shaken to the core by his proximity, by his words, and the fact that he followed me out of dinner to find out why I'd left his club.

Realization hits me then, and it's all I can do to stop from keeling over; Draco ran after me, and that means that he cares…

_Cho, what about Cho? What about Aiken?_ a tiny voice inside of my head asks desperately, but it is muffled, drowned under the wild pounding of my heart.

We're still looking at each other in silence, and my heart skips a beat when I see his steel gray eyes travel down to my face, to settle on my lips.

As I watch in mute astonishment Draco uncrosses his arms, and his hands come down to rest on my hips.

Raw electricity races up and down my body. The gentle pressure of his hands on me feels wonderful, and his scent, that mix of sandalwood and vanilla, reaches me discreetly. I feel like touching him, but remain rigid, as if he had performed the Body Binding Curse on me.

I continue to look at him in amazement, and my eyes dart down to his beautiful, soft looking lips.

I hear drums in the distance as Draco pulls me in to him firmly, grabbing me by the waist. Before I know it, he's gathered me to him, and I can feel the hard lines of his beautiful body pressed against the front of mine, sending shockwaves through me. I melt into him, raising my hands to his sculpted chest, noticing how tiny they look against him.

To my immense surprise I can feel his heart racing under my hands through his shirt, as if he'd been running around the pitch.

Draco brings his hands up my sides, and then places a long, pale finger under my chin, raising it gently but firmly. I bite my lip and gather the courage to lift my eyes up to his.

When I do, I see his pale eyes are set on me with a quiet sort of intensity. Our eyes lock, and I realize the 'drums' I've been hearing are the wild beats of my own heart.

I'm frozen in his arms, though I'd very much love to wrap my arms around his neck, or run my fingers through his hair. I find I can't move as we look at each other in silence.

Time seems to stop for me as Draco lowers his face to mine, and I feel the warmth of his breath on my skin as my eyelids flutter…I am certain that he will taste like chocolate ice cream-

"HEY!" an angry voice calls out.

My eyes flip open, and I feel myself melt with disappointment and frustration, crushed under the inexorable weight of Murphy's Law.

_Anything that can go wrong, will._

It really was too good to be true.

"Get your stupid face away from hers, you Slytherin git!" Ron demands. "Just what do you think you're doing to my sister?"

I had recognized the voice instantly, by the way, and am both irritated and worried by the angry tone I hear in it; Angry Ron is Unreasonable Ron, and that can only mean _trouble._

Draco's face is indeed only inches away from mine. As I watch, his exquisite features form a hard mask of arrogance and indifference that makes me cringe.

His hands drop from my waist, and he turns around slowly, in the direction where Ron's angry voice is coming from.

"And since when, pray, do I explain myself to _you_, Weasel?" Draco inquires calmly, but the tension in his shoulders does not go unnoticed by me. "One would think you'd learned by now to not be so insolent towards your superiors, but I realize you're just too brutish to know better…"

Ron glares at the blond angrily, his blue eyes blazing. "I asked you a question, you greasy ferret!" he growls, pointing a finger at Draco. "Just what do you think you're doing? Get away from her, you Death Eater wanna-be!"

"Ron, you stupid asshole!" I say quickly, coming up to stand next to Draco. "Don't call him that! He's not doing _anything_ to me, we're just talking. Get lost, you big moron! This is none of your damned business!"

But Ron's eyes aren't on me at all. He's looking at Draco, and his cheeks are flushed with anger.

I turn from him to the Slytherin, who's sporting an expression that's somewhere in between a sneer and a malicious smile.

"Listen, Weasel, she's right…even if I decided to amuse myself with her, it still would be none of your business," Draco drawls, folding his arms. "Not to mention, it would be the best damned thing that ever happened to her."

I flash Draco a glare, choosing to ignore the part of me that agrees with his last statement; who does he think he is, anyway?

_Amuse _himself with me? The nerve of him, that jerk!

A moment later I turn to my brother, to find that he's glowering menacingly at the Slytherin.

Now, Ron stands at 6'3, and that's at least a couple of inches taller than Draco, who is -I've noticed- Harry's height.

My brother's shoulders have broadened out considerably, and his arms are well muscled. He can look pretty mean when he's angry, and anyone else would be worried for their own physical well-being when Ron glares like that, but the platinum blond next to me looks him straight in the eye, _and smirks_.

"Malfoy, you stay away from MY SISTER!" Ron demands, his voice almost a growl.

"_No_," Draco snaps, managing to sound both playful _and _petulant, like a defiant toddler refusing naptime.

His mercury eyes are glittering with malice, and a lazy smile works its way into his perfect lips as his hand comes to rest on his hip. "I'll talk to her…" he says slowly, and I note with a chill that his voice has dropped an octave.

Despite the softness of his tone, Draco's entire manner, his stance, and the way he's looking at Ron, speak of insolence, and defiance. He's obviously baiting my brother, but Ron is the sort to fall for this kind of thing, and Draco is masterful at emotional manipulation, I've noticed.

"I'll talk to her _when_ and _where_ I _fucking_ please," he continues casually, still smiling, and looking my brother brazenly in the eye. "What are _you_ gonna do about it?"

Gone is the person who spoke of the importance of unity, without actually saying it, the one who's trying by all means possible to change into someone better, without losing face, or forsaking his fierce pride.

Standing next to me is _Malfoy_, the one I've known and "despised" during the last five years.

All it takes are a few harsh words to destroy the fragile, uneasy peace of the post war. Old spites and feuds can be revived at the drop of a hat, something I've observed in others in the hallways, on the Quidditch pitch, everywhere.

It's like everyone's trying , but someone's splashed gasoline all over the place, and the tiniest flicker can spark a fire.

And this time it's one of my own, Ron, who's caused it. This makes me sad, but it's just the way things are, I guess.

I tear my eyes away from the sight of Draco, and turn to look at my brother, whose face is bright red, and whose shoulders are squared with anger and tension.

"Ron," I say warningly, "Draco, _please_."

Draco's eyes flick to me briefly, but he turns to Ron again, and says, "You're not going to do _anything_, Weasley. And do you know why? Because you're a spineless coward…"

Ron flinches, as if he'd been struck physically, but Draco is far from done.

"I can snog your sister in front of the whole of Gryffindor, if I wanted, and you'd do nothing," the Slytherin says softly, as a wild heat spreads across my face. "I can push your sister up against the wall, and fuck her from behind, right here, in the hallway, until she screams out the name MALFOY in praise and thanks, and you'd _still_ do nothing, because you're a just a big, stupid _pussy_-"

At this point I stop listening to what Draco's saying. I feel insulted, and oddly manipulated, for this is the second time he's made sexual references in regards to me, just so he can heckle someone.

What he just said is so vile, and the fact that he's saying it to my _brother_ is so despicable, that I feel myself explode with indignation and a sudden, blinding _rage_. Before I know it, I'm standing in front of the platinum blond, doing something I never dreamed I'd do.

Let me paint the picture for you: Ron is standing there, quivering with fury. All of the veins in his neck have popped out, and the color of his face matches that of his hair, giving his entire head the appearance of an over-ripe tomato. His hands are balled into fists, but like I said, he has a slow reaction time, so he hasn't so much as taken a step forward.

Draco, on the other hand, is smiling calmly, but his silver eyes are hard and _blazing_ with anger, as if they really were made out of metal. He's standing there, tall and lithe, facing Ron with all the grace of a Spanish bullfighter. And I have to admit it, my brother really resembles a raging bull more than he does a boy, at the moment.

Draco's hands are, like Ron's, also balled into fists, for he's expecting my brother to lunge at him at any moment.

What he doesn't expect, however, is for me to grab him by the shoulders as my knee connects with his groin. This is standard self-defense for girls, as taught to me by my brother, Bill, when I first started dating.

I hold onto Draco now as he doubles over in pain. A groan escapes him, and his lips remain parted in a breathless gasp, his pewter colored eyes widening with shock and agony.

"Don't you _EVER_ talk about me that way again, you _stupid fucker_," I growl, in a voice I don't even recognize as mine.

Draco crumples to the floor in a fetal position, with his eyes closed, his skin flushed a darker red than I thought was possible for him, given his pale complexion.

_"Ginny!" _Ron exclaims, and I hear him as if from far away, but he must be near me, for -I vaguely register- he's grabbing me by the shoulders.

His voice is something like shock, worry, and _glee_, all rolled into one. "Ginny- that was…_incredible_!"

I glare at my brother, but my eyes soften when I turn to look down at Draco again. He's still lying there, bent, with his knees drawn together and his hands between his legs. His eyes are closed, and he looks frail and oddly _peaceful._

Regret and pain at having hurt him wash over my sudden rage, until there's not even a trace of it left.

I don't know what to do; Draco's just lying there, like a fallen angel, and I have this urge to just _hold_ him.

_What have I done?_ I wonder, as I look down at him.

Just then and as if on cue, Crabbe and Goyle walk out of the Great Hall. Their eyes flick from us to the crumpled Draco lying on the floor.

"What have you_ DONE _to him?" Goyle demands, and there's real concern -and even _anguish_- in his voice as both he and Crabbe rush to Draco's prone form.

"Nothing he didn't deserve!" Ron says smugly.

"SHUT _UP_, RONALD!" I snap, shrugging his hands off of my shoulders.

"If you've hurt him, I'll kill you," Crabbe promises, pointing a meaty finger at my brother.

Goyle is on his knees by Draco's side, and he looks like he's about to cry.

Looking at them, I have the most surreal feeling, as if I were part of some bizarre dream sequence.

Realizing something has to be done, I turn to the more composed of Draco's underlings.

"Crabbe," I say, and he turns to look at me. I meet his eyes for the first time in my life, and discover that they're not nearly as vacant as I had supposed. "Take Draco to the infirmary," I command. "He'll need some painkillers…and some ice."

I'm wishing that I could stay with Draco, but I'm certain that I'm the last person he wants to see at the moment, which is probably why he hasn't opened his eyes yet.

Anyway, instead of being annoyed, Crabbe looks relieved that he's being told what to do. He nods and begins to help Draco up, with the help of a still dazed Goyle.

Dragging a smiling Ron by the hand towards Gryffindor Tower, I cast Draco one last, longing look as we round the corner.

I may tease Ron, but my own reaction time is slow when it comes to my emotions catching up to me, and it's only now that the backlog of what just happened _really_ hits me, like a slap in the face.

I can't begin to describe the course of my thoughts as I walk listlessly next to my brother, like a zombie.

"That was bloody _brilliant_, Ginny! I'm so proud of you, baby sister!" Ron gushes, hugging me awkwardly as we climb up the stairs. "Malfoy may never be able to reproduce, after that. You've done humanity a great service!"

I stare at Ron's grinning face incredulously, and proceed to burst into tears.

**X**

Needless to say, at some point on our way up to the Tower, Ron demanded to know why I was crying, and why it had looked like Draco and I were about to kiss when he appeared.

I cried harder and punched him in the arm, and he just stared at me, his blue eyes round with amazement. I don't think he felt the pain in his arm at all, though I punched him kind of hard. I think if I'd cut him he wouldn't have bled in that moment.

"Ginny…not you and…you and _him?"_

He seemed too amazed to sound angry, and I, still wiping tears from eyes, didn't bother to deny anything. I think he's still in shock, for he hasn't brought up the subject again.

Through tears and threats, I managed to extract from him the promise that he wouldn't tell a soul –excluding Harry and Hermione, of course- about what happened.

Ron was so shocked at seeing me cry that he quickly agreed to everything.

So why did I bully my brother into silence? Well, Draco Malfoy has an image to maintain. If word gets out that he got kicked in the balls by me –a _girl_, and a _Gryffindor_, at that- well, let's just say that's publicity we could both do without.

When we got back to the Tower I headed straight to my room and crawled into bed, crying my eyes out while waiting for Shawn to arrive, so I could finally confide in her about my feelings for Draco.

She wasn't nearly as shocked as I'd expected. "Malfoy's got a hot ass, and he's _gorgeous_ -I'll give you that- but seriously… he is such a _git_…" was all she said, wrinkling her nose with disapproval. "There's really no accounting for taste, I guess."

I wiped at my nose and rolled my eyes around.

Shawn agrees with me that whatever possibility I had of making Draco want to be with me evaporated the moment my knee connected with his groin. Also, she thinks I don't stand a chance against Cho Chang.

That's one of the things I love about Shawn, she doesn't sugarcoat things; it's just not in her.

Needless to say, I've been moping all day since yesterday. I said I wasn't a crier, and I'm not: I _did_ sob listlessly last night, in front of Shawn and Ron, but I haven't cried again since.

Not that I don't _feel_ like crying; there's a tightness in my chest, as if a snake had wound itself around me tightly and were squeezing the air out of me. The intensity of what I feel for Draco, coupled with my guilt at having hurt him, make me feel like I'm about to throw up. I need to see him, I _need_ to apologize. But, odd as it may seem, I just can't bear the thought of him looking into my face at the moment.

Fortunately today is Saturday, so I can afford to mope and pine in my room all I want to.

Hermione's also here, lying on Shawn's bed, reading from _Hogwart's: A History_.

Everyone deals with grief in their own way, and ever since she found out about Fred and Angelina, Hermione's kept her nose buried in that book. I haven't seen her crying again, but she seems more sober and bookish than usual; Percy would be described as 'lively', compared to her.

I suspect she's entrenched herself here with me now because my grief is comforting to her, which is weird, because we've never had much in common; we don't laugh together, much, but at least we can _cry_ together, figuratively speaking.

Also, Ron and Harry are happily involved with members of the opposite sex –Parvati Patil and Luna Lovegood, respectively- and I guess Hermione doesn't want their pity. No, better to lock herself up with someone who's just as pathetic as her, if not more.

Anyway. It's a Hogsmeade weekend, and Ron and Harry have been sending paper planes into my room all day, trying to get me and Hermione to leave our -in their words- 'grotto of grief', 'lair of lamentation', 'pillar of pining', 'burrow of bereavement', and even our 'crying cave'.

"_Crying cave?_ It seems like they didn't really try very hard with that last one," I comment, re-folding the paper plane.

Hermione snorts, not looking up from her book.

I flick at the paper plane with my wand, and watch as it speeds off in the direction of the common room.

"You know what, I think we really _should_ go down to Hogsmeade," I say suddenly.

I've been hiding in my room, not even going down to meals. The thought of how Draco might react to seeing me again terrifies me.

Will his beautiful eyes look upon me with hate and disgust? Will he disdain me? Will he even look at me at all, or will he pretend that I don't exist?

I know- I'm getting mawkish.

Every single possibility is dire to me, though, and I rather not think about it too much.

But I'm a true Gryff at heart, and cowering doesn't sit well with me. I know I have to face Draco, and the need to see him, to tell him that I'm sorry, overpowers my fear of his reaction. Not to mention I'm _starving_…

"Come on, Mione, let's go."

Hermione looks up from her book and ponders what I've said, wrinkling her nose slightly. "I don't know…" she says, sounding dubious. "Why don't you go ahead, I think I'll stay here…"

I have an ulterior motive for wanting Hermione to go to Hogsmeade: I know there's a big chance that the twins will be there, looking into that new locale they're planning to rent out for the Hogsmeade branch of WWW's.

Things ended as abruptly as they started between my brother and Hermione, and they never even saw each other again, after that. I'm sure that when they do, something will happen…I'm not sure what.

But- I'm positive _anything_ would be better than this silent pining for each other.

"Hermione," I say, kneeling before my old trunk, and sorting through my tee shirts. "Weren't you paying attention to Ron and Harry's second paper plane? We're the 'Tearful Twins' now-"

"-It's the 'Sobbing Sisters'," she corrects me primly, little miss know-it-all till the end.

"…Whatever," I return. "The point is, if _I_ go down to Hogsmeade, _you_ have to come with me, so we can mope together!" This last part is muffled as I pull off my pajama top.

I hadn't changed out of it since yesterday…

Anyway, I'm deliberately being casual about wanting Hermione to come with us, not insisting too much. If I let on I _really_ want her to come, she might become suspicious. Reverse psychology, if you will, and I'm hoping it will work.

I ignore her as I put on a thick, long sleeved white shirt with a green tee shirt over it. This green tee borders on tacky, for it reads _"Spank me, I'm Irish!"_ in bold red lettering across the front. But I adore it, and Ron hates it, so, all the more reason to wear it.

Next I change into a pair of tattered old jeans, and pull my hair up into a messy ponytail.

Hermione observes me with a thoughtful expression, and it's not until I finish lacing up my tattered Converse classic high tops that she finally gets up and says, "Fine, I'll go."

**X**

I'm sorry to say our foray into Hogsmeade yielded no results, as far as Fred and Hermione go.

As is tradition, we went for butterbeers first. We crammed into a booth, Ron and I on one side, Hermione and Harry on the other. The boys have enough tact, it seems, to not flaunt their relationships in front of Hermione's face, and -at least for today- they flew solo.

By the way, I should point out that Ron and Parvati don't have a real relationship, as far as I'm concerned. There's some snogging, and -I hate to think it- some fucking, going on, as well. But other than that, it's not serious. They don't even go out on dates, or bother pretending they're a real couple.

It's like they're both passing the time until someone better comes along. Oddly enough it seems to work, and it's been going on for some months now, despite the fact that everyone –including yours truly- gave them a few days, at best.

Ron, by the way, kept looking at me insistently, like he wanted to talk, since I walked into the common room earlier. But, since I can guess what it's about, I can pretty much guarantee that I'll be nowhere near him on my own any time soon.

After the Three Broomsticks we went to Honeydukes, and then hung around the Shrieking Shack, talking about Quidditch, and my upcoming O.W.L.s.

Hermione had a lot of advice to give me on how I should prep, and became animated once again, talking about what is, indeed, her passion: no, not the well-being of House Elves; _academic excellence!_

She babbled on and on about the importance of studying strategies, and I pretended to pay attention while secretly reliving my _almost_ kiss with Draco...The way he looked at me, the way his eyes burned into mine as he drew me to him, what it felt like to be pressed up against him…

Anyway we got back to the castle a little while ago, and are now sitting at the Great Hall, sipping warm cocoa. Hermione and Ron are talking quietly, and Harry's making notes in his little Quidditch pad. We have a match coming up soon.

I finish the last of my cocoa and whisper to the messy haired Quidditch captain that I'm going to the owlery; he nods absently as I slip away.

Why am I going to the owlery? Well I'm dropping my brother Fred a line –literally, a single line. Let's see what comes out of that.

I make it to the owlery and give my note to Pig, accompanied by some treats. Meanwhile, I'm obsessing over what I'll say and what I'll do when I see Draco again.

"Ginny," I voice I know well says from behind me.

I turn to face Ron, berating myself for having let my guard down, if only for an instant.

He looks back at me calmly, with his hands in his pockets, but I see his shoulders are tensed. More importantly, there's a determined look in his blue eyes. I know there's no way I'm getting out of this conversation now.

"We have to talk about…about you and….Malf- you and….that stupid git…" Ron blushes furiously, unable to connect me to Draco, even in words.

"No, we _don't_," I snap, meeting my brother's eyes evenly. "There's nothing to talk about. There's nothing going on. Especially not after…after what happened…"

"Nothing going on _now_, but there was before, then?" Ron demands, striding over to me quickly. "He was going to _kiss_ you, and you didn't look like you wanted to stop him!" he says accusingly.

"You're right Ron. I wasn't going to stop him, quite the contrary, I was going to snog him silly," I state petulantly, knowing full well that will only rile him up, but I can't help it; I'm so _angry_ at my brother. This was all his fault, to begin with.

"I happen to _like_ that stupid git," I continue haughtily. "Understand?"

"Ginny! How can you say something like that?" Ron says, sounding stricken. "Don't you realize the kind of scum Malfoy is? He's the biggest player in Hogwarts! You heard what he said about you! He would just use you, take advantage of you, and then drop you, like he does to everyone else!"

I glare at my brother angrily, mostly because he's saying exactly what I've been thinking lately.

"Well _bully_ _for me_," I hiss. "I still don't see how that's any of your fucking business. If I _want_ to be used, I'll _be_ used, and you should butt out! It's not like _you're _doing any better!"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Ron demands angrily, turning to follow me as I storm past him.

"That you have some gall to come preaching to me about morality, when everyone knows you and Parvati are just using each other!" I shout at him, not bothering to look over my shoulder at him as I stomp towards the castle.

"Don't talk about things you don't understand!" Ron snaps, hastening to catch up to me.

I turn to glare at him. "I _don't_ understand, and I _don't_ approve, but I don't go around acting like I'm the queen of morality, judging you at every turn. I'd appreciate if you did the same!"

"Ginny, I'm only trying to take care of you!" Ron yells in frustration, hastening to keep up to my furious pace.

We've reached the courtyard now, and I turn to him again, my face burning with anger.

"I don't NEED you to take care of me! I can take care of myself!" I yell back, balling my hands into fists and stomping my foot in anger. "Just mind your own fucking business!"

"Ginny!" Ron says urgently, waving his hands desperately and turning pale.

"Shut up, and get it through your thick skull!" I scream, ignoring his stunned expression, and the fact that he's not even looking at me anymore, his eyes round and fixed on some point past my shoulder.

"Ginny, SHUT UP!" Ron says desperately, moving to clamp his hands over my mouth, but I push him away with all my might.

"For the last time, Ronald, mind your own damned business! If I want to get taken advantage of, it is MY problem!" I shriek, my voice rising higher and higher. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that I've lost all control over myself- I've literally let loose. "IF I WANT TO GET USED AND PLAYED BY DRACO MALFOY, I'LL _GET_ PLAYED, AND YOU BETTER STAY OUT OF IT!" I yell at the top of my voice. "I might just go down to Slytherin right now to get myself FUCKED by him, AND IT'S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMNED BUSINESS!"

Ron's mouth drops open.

A moment later I realize why, and my blood freezes in my veins. I feel a if someone had just punched me in the stomach, knocking all the wind out of me, for, you see, standing there are Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini…and Draco Malfoy.

They're all looking at us with equally stunned expressions, and Draco's cheeks are tinted a very pretty pink.

For a moment no one says anything, and we all just stand there, frozen. In that instant, my eyes meet a pair of stunned, pewter colored ones, and I hasten to look away.

The Slytherins quickly recover, and as Draco continues to walk past us, without so much as saying a word, Nott makes a growling sound.

He smirks at me and turns away, following after the blond Quidditch captain.

Blaise laughs and turns to me.

"Draco will be at the Three Broomsticks, love," he says amusedly. "And if he's busy, I wouldn't mind _filling in_ for him, if you catch my drift…"

I stare at him, my chest still heaving from the effort of all that shouting, my face burning with shame. I turn to my brother and find he is staring straight ahead, as if he's not even there anymore, as if he were a shell of himself.

I say nothing to Blaise, and Draco's already far away, walking with his accustomed grace down the path that leads to Hogsmeade. Blaise winks at me and turns away, following after his friends.

A moment later I grab a remarkably subdued Ron by the arm.

Without saying a word, I turn and walk back to the castle, once again dragging my brother behind me.

**X**

**

* * *

  
**

Well, what'd you guys think?

I confess I'm not usually a Ron fan, but I'm enjoying writing him so far. Even though he's meddled far too much, and has royally _screwed up_ several times, I can't be angry at him!

I have to tell you guys, reading your amazing feedback totally makes my day. It's really encouraging, and makes me want to write faster.** PLEASE REVIEW!**

It's that time again: time to shamelessly promote my fics! My** new D/G one-shot, "Moonbeam" is up! **I rather like that one, too. After you're done reviewing here, (hint, hint) please read that one!

The line "_**clear as winter ice**__"_ which I used here to describe Draco's eyes, comes from the fact that I was listening to "Straight to Hell", one of my favorite songs by _The Clash_, while I was writing this. Clash, scontro...hhehe. Okay, I'm a geek.

Don't forget to review!


	7. Scuse

_"Scuse"_ means apology.

* * *

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Seven: "Scuse"**

_Come on over, and do the twist,  
ahhhh haaaaa!  
Overdo it, and have a fit,  
ahhhh haaaaa!_

_  
Love you so much, it makes me sick  
ahhhhh haaaa!  
Come on over, and do the twist  
ahhhhh haaaa!_

_Beat me outta me,  
(beat it, beat it)  
beat me outta me._

_She keeps it pumpin',  
straight to my heart …_

--"Aneurysm", by Nirvana

**X**

I'm sitting at the Gryffindor table, having just skipped dinner in favor of dessert. I'm not in the mood to talk, so I sit in silence, vaguely listening to the conversations around me as I spear up a strawberry.

My fork falters in mid-air when the platinum blond object of my obsessions enters the Great Hall, flanked by his entourage.

I notice mine are not the only pair of eyes that have darted towards him; when Draco Malfoy walks into a room, the air just _changes,_ heads turn_._

So what _about_ Draco Malfoy, you ask?

Well, I don't know if you've ever had a moment so shameful, so completely humiliating, that at first you wish the ground would literally open up and swallow you, but soon your mind just blocks it out, and refuses to accept it even happened.

That's sort of what happened to me, and I thank my sub-conscious for using such a clever defense mechanism. I have to say, after being subject to years of humiliation (_Midnight Sexcapades? _Come _on_), I'm more than equipped to deal with these sorts of things.

It's what allows me to sit calmly at the dinner table, eating strawberry shortcake as if I hadn't a care in the world, as if the three hottest boys at school hadn't overheard my embarrassing proclamation of sexual freedom. (Surprisingly, the story of how I said I might just "go down to Slytherin to get myself fucked" by Draco hasn't broken out all over the castle, as I had initially feared. Who knew boys could be so discreet?)

Oddly enough, the same mental blocking I'm experiencing seems to have happened to Ron. Ever since that moment in the courtyard, he's been in a sort of stupor. He and Draco Malfoy have been carefully ignoring each other these last few days, and the subject of the Slytherin Quidditch captain hasn't resurfaced between us.

My brother is sitting a few spots away from me now, talking quietly with his two best friends.

Hermione, by the way, is still somewhat subdued after the Fred thing. She's looking rather skinny these days, but has finally put down _Hogwarts: A History._

My eyes slide over her and the remaining two thirds of the Golden Trio, and then continue to travel across the room, to the magnificent head of platinum blond hair at the Slytherin table.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about him, about the way we looked at each other when he was about to kiss me…

Draco hasn't so much as looked in my direction in the past seventy-two hours, though I've made a point of not hiding; I've nothing to be ashamed of...Shut up.

As I observe him covertly now, my heart catches at how beautiful he is. He's sitting there, not really eating, keeping to himself, although he's surrounded by his Housemates. Blaise, who sits faithfully by his side -looking rather pretty- never once speaks to him. No one does.

I take it it's one of his brooding days. There had seemed to be less of those, since he started the club, but lately Draco's reverted to being taciturn.

I wonder what's troubling him, and -remembering the way we looked into each others eyes just before we almost kissed- for a moment it occurs to me that maybe he's upset over everything that's happened between us lately.

But then I snap out of it, and realize I'm being stupid again…this is _Draco Malfoy_ I'm talking about.

As if to drill this last concept into my brain, the beautiful Aiken Dunn walks over to him. I watch as she stands behind him, and wraps her arms around his neck, to which he remains impassive.

She inclines her head and whispers into Draco's ear, and I observe detachedly the way his hair looks almost white next to her darker blond. And they look good together; that's a shock, right there.

Aiken continues to speak into his ear, and I can't help but notice the way Draco's face seems to have relaxed, and a ghost of a smile plays over his beautiful lips. And then he stands and leaves the table, walking towards the exit of the Great Hall, with Aiken tugging him away by the hand.

Once again, I try to tear my eyes away from the sight of him, try to concentrate on my dessert, but I can't. And quite suddenly, and to my immense surprise, Draco turns his head as he walks out of the Great Hall, and his gray eyes latch onto mine.

**X**

I'm supposed to be meeting with Cho now, just the two of us. I'm running a few minutes late, clutching my heavy books to me tightly. As I round the corner towards the library, I see my editor-in-chief standing out in the hallway, talking heatedly with Paul Keegan, of all people.

They seem to be arguing over something, and even from here I can see the angry flush in Cho's porcelain cheeks, and the way her usually cold eyes seem to be sparkling with fury. Paul seems to be the more calm of the two, but the strong line of his jaw is visible tensed.

I'm so intent on the two of them as I'm walking that I bump into someone and drop my stuff all over the place, causing the couple to turn to me, looking surprised.

I hasten to look away from them.

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaims. "How clumsy of me! Here, let me help you."

We both bend down and start to gather my things. All of my books are lying strewn about the floor, and some of the contents of my bag (quills, chocolate, a travel-size bottle of hand lotion, chocolate…) have spilled out. I frantically grab for a pad wrapped in bright green plastic, (it's the kind of pad you don't want boys to see, if you're a teenage girl), when suddenly I notice a pair of beautifully polished shoes standing in front of me.

I look up to discover the handsome Ravenclaw seventh year, Paul, standing there looking at me curiously. As I watch he bends down -ignoring the item of menstrual hygiene- and picks up the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans I bought in Hogsmeade last Saturday.

"Mind if I have one?" he inquires, holding his hand out to me to help me up.

He smiles and I take his hand, with the pad now out of sight in the safety of the pocket of my school robes.

"Sure, have as many as you like," I reply, smiling back.

He opens the box and picks out a bright purple bean, popping it into his mouth. A second later his handsome features twist into a comical grimace

.

"_Tripe_," he says, handing the box back to me, and I wince sympathetically. He swallows, and then grins. "Ginny, right?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "And you're Paul?"

"Yep, that's me. Nice to me you," he says, still smiling, and looking at me intently with his startling blue eyes.

I look back at him, thinking that he looks like an older, infinitely handsomer version of Harry, who's on the skinny side now, and has always looked young for his age, anyway.

Then I notice Hermione has finished gathering my things, and is standing there observing us with an amused expression.

"Oh," I say quickly, "this is my friend-"

"-Hermione Granger. I know," the Ravenclaw says, nodding to her, and then turning back to me again. Some strands of raven black hair have fallen over his blue eyes, but he makes no effort to brush them away. "Well, Ginny, you better not keep Cho waiting. See you around." He flashes me a smile, nods at Hermione again, and walks away.

I follow him with my eyes, and nearly topple over when Hermione stacks my heavy books in my arms, grinning widely. "Watch out, Malfoy…" she says softly, giving me a half grin. "Bye Ginny."

I snort.

I only wish Draco had something to worry about…

Anyway, the all-knowing Paul is right; I better not keep Cho Chang waiting.

When I enter the library I find her seated at what is now our usual newspaper chat table.

As I take a seat across from her, I can't help but notice Cho's cheeks are still flushed, and she looks rather upset.

We're not friends though, as you well know, so I don't feel comfortable asking her if something's wrong. Fortunately she doesn't give me time for any questions. She looks at me and says, "We have a meeting with Dumbledore and Snape at the end of the week."

"_Snape?"_ I inquire, tilting my head to the side.

"Yeah," Cho says dismissively, "he's our faculty supervisor, Weasley; didn't I tell you?"

Ummm, no, you stupid _bitch_, you _didn't_.

"I've been meeting with him over the course of the past few weeks…are you alright? Anyway, we have to meet him and Dumbledore to present them with a final layout of the paper, subject for approval…" The beautiful Asian girl continues to speak, and I try not to glare at her, not to alert her to the nature of my thoughts, which are, basically: that greedy Ravenclaw _hussy_! That shameless harlot! Does she intend to get her grimy paws on _every_ single gorgeous Slytherin I'm remotely (okay, not so remotely), interested in?

DAMN HER, DAMN HER TO HELL AND BACK!

Um, yeah.

I, uh, am well aware that Cho meeting with Snape is hardly her "getting her grimy paws on him", but I'm still piqued, and I suspect it's got nothing to do with my Potions Master, really, but rather a certain sixth year Slytherin. Fortunately, I'm good at emotional concealment by now; I feign nonchalance as we go over our talking points, as if nothing were the matter.

Cho is talking about her concern that we're not ready for this meeting, and that we might not be able to finish everything in time.

I pretend to listen.

All the while I keep sneaking her glances, trying to guess what Draco likes the most about her.

Is it her pouty lips?

Mine are, pouty, too; Michael Corner once said I had a "bumblebee kissed mouth", I'll have you know.

Is it her boobs? Is it her long, silky black hair? Her eyes? Cho has eyes like a shark, or a doll; black, and _mean._ But still, very beautiful…

Ugh, I'm sick, I know it.

And this doubt is just _killing_ me. Everyone assumes that Draco and Cho have gotten back together again, and neither of them does anything to dispel these rumors. Quite the contrary, really. But Draco behaves as if he weren't in a relationship –you saw him with Aiken just now. I'd _like_ to believe they left in order to do some impulsive night de-gnoming of the gardens of Hogwarts, but somehow I doubt it.

The image of Draco and Aiken in a tangle of bare limbs flashes through my mind now, and causes an unexpected stab of pain to go through me. I brush it away, and concentrate on Cho again.

I've come so close to just asking her straight out.

I stare at her intently now, as if the answer to my doubts would suddenly appear written across her smooth forehead.

The question is on the tip of my tongue.

"_Are you and Draco back together again?"_

Fortunately, and as always, the little pride I have left stops me.

**X**

It's Tuesday morning, and it's cold.

I draw my robes around me, stomping my feet vigorously on the hard ground. I should have donned something warmer than my school robes over my pajamas, but I didn't think of that.

Why have I gotten up at the crack of dawn today? And why am I walking towards the Quidditch pitch now, where I know the Slytherin Quidditch team is currently engaging in their tri-weekly morning jog?

Well, you see, it's like this: I have to apologize to Draco, I simply must.

And before you say anything, let me just tell you I've given up on him entirely. I'm not daft. I know I can't hold a candle to Cho, or to Aiken Dunn, and who knows who else. I won't embarrass myself, my family, and my House further by trying to, especially not to win the affections of a _Malfoy._

But I just can't have it in my conscience, what I did to him. Okay, so, he deserved it, but what I did was horrible, and it's not like me at all.

I'm not the most level-headed of Weasleys –that would be, surprisingly, _George_- but I'm not a violent brute who goes around tackling people, like I did to Zabini, or erm, kneeing people, etc.

The problem is whenever I see Draco, he's either with Cho, or with his guy friends, namely Blaise -who keeps shooting me amused looks, as does Theodore Nott.

I've been wracking my brain over the weekend, thinking of how to approach the temperamental Slytherin.

"Give it up, mate," Shawn advised, shaking her head grimly.

I had asked her what I should do in regards to Draco, and her answer surprised me: a very flat, very firm _nothing._

"Girl…_he hates your guts!" _Shawn exclaimed dramatically, throwing her hands up around her face like a rather vocal –and _insolent_- mime. "Just accept it, like _I _did… And be glad you got to kick him in the balls, at least," she added darkly, and I know she was thinking of a certain blond Irishman, whom she's made a point of ignoring during the past thirteen hours.

That's a new record; I'm proud of her.

However, and you'll concur with me here, it's not like Shawn knows what she's talking about when it comes to boys, so I intend to disregard her advice entirely.

This explains why I'm heading towards the pitch now. Like I said, I got up early, but it took me a while to get out of zombie mode, so it's a quarter past six now, and the sun is already peeking from behind fluffy purple and pink clouds in the distance.

There's that crepuscular quiet, that weird sort of stillness that precedes the dawn, and contrasts sharply with the dramatic canvas that is the sky. I can only hear the sound of my own footsteps as I walk towards the pitch.

It's beautiful, and if I weren't so damned nervous, I would be enjoying my walk.

It's cold, but not bitterly so, and the feel of leaves crunching under my feet is rather nice, not to mention the view of the pitch in the gleaming first light of dawn is spectacular.

But even as I notice these things I do it absently, as if I were standing behind a thick glass wall. The only thing I'm aware of is the bundle of nervous energy that seems to have settled in my stomach, to the point where-

Oh. My. God.

There he is.

Draco is floating high in the air, but not far up enough that I can't make out the fine bone-structure, the lovely details of his face. That, and the way his lead gray eyes are fixed intently on me as a cold wind picks up the strands of wavy hair at my back, whipping them about.

The sun is rising behind me. I cannot see it, but I can feel its rays caressing the back of my head. In that instant I realize what the probable cause of Draco's absorption is; my hair must be glowing like a ball of fire, caught as it is in the line of the sun ascending.

Looking up at him, my expression set with grim determination as my flaming hair blows around my face, I must be a sight. Some people believe redheads are the spawns of Satan. If this is true, never will my relation to _HIM_ be as evident as it is now.

But, I note, Draco does not appear to be horrified. Far from it, he seems…entranced?

He hovers down to me gently, stopping a few feet above me with his hair blowing gently around his beautiful face, which is expressionless. He is perfectly still, sitting atop his fine broom with that aristocratic grace of his; not entirely straight, but not hunched either.

Casually elegant, I decide.

Draco is wearing a black turtleneck, and his silvery blond hair is hanging loosely, blowing softly in the breeze. I can see it is matted with cooling sweat, and his face is slightly flushed; apparently he's been doing some running. The look of exertion suits him, I think, blushing at the sudden thought of Draco 'exerting' himself in other ways. And I don't mean grating cheese, in case you were wondering.

We stare at each other in silence, even as I become aware of the sounds of catcalls coming from the direction of the benches, where the remainder of the Slytherin Quidditch team, particularly Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, are looking at us with obvious interest and amusement.

Uh-oh.

"IF I _WANT_ TO GET USED BY GINNY WEASLEY, I'LL _GET_ USED!" Blaise declares pompously -and at the top of his voice- while gesticulating energetically with his fists.

I blush as red as my hair, but remain unmoving, as does Draco, whose eyes haven't left my face.

"I MIGHT JUST GO UP TO GRYFFINDOR TO GET MYSELF _FUCKED_ RIGHT NOW, AND IT'S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMNED BUSINESS!"

"_Whoooo_! Hell yes!" Nott shouts, grinning widely and swinging his narrow hips in a rather suggestive, rather sexy side-to-side motion. "You can play me anytime you want!" he adds, grinning at me.

Blaise laughs, throws his head back, and _howls._

That Blaise Zabini…that Theodore Nott!

I watch, mortified, and look from them to Draco.

The Quidditch captain turns his head slowly towards his teammates, and raises an eyebrow.

It is impossible for them to have seen it -the benches are not that close by- but the fact remains that the Slytherins suddenly fall silent. They're still grinning, and to my immense relief, their teammates -including Aiken Dunn- all look tremendously confused.

A moment later they all begin to run around the outside ring of the field.

I notice the backs of their sweaters are already covered in sweat; they must have been taking a break before their final laps. As I give Aiken's incredibly toned backside a quick glimpse, I make a mental note to start jogging, _pronto!_

Draco turns his head back to me, and after looking at me for some time, watching me wordlessly, appears to decide to finally land next to me. His movements are so precise there's barely the sound of air whooshing by me as he touches down.

"What are you doing here?" he inquires sharply, holding his broom in his gloved left hand.

"I had to talk to you," I reply quickly, too quickly, and though my voice sounds firm, my resolution falters a little at the intense way in which Draco's looking at me.

What is he thinking right now? His face is completely devoid of expression, and his pewter colored eyes give away nothing.

"Draco," I breathe, once again using his given name without intending to, "I'm so sorry." I say it sincerely, taking care not to mention what it is I'm sorry for.

I don't want to embarrass him, or myself, any further. Besides, he was there, he _knows._

I look at Draco's exquisite face searchingly, and take a step towards him, without having actually decided to. "Really, I never intended…" I trail off, for I'm not too anxious to remind him of Athena.

We all know how smashingly well things worked for her, don't we?

"And what I said to Ron the other day…I was just trying to prove a point. I didn't really mean any of that." I finish quietly, steeling myself and expecting the worst.

The blond Quidditch captain is looking at me calmly.

The silence drags on as he seems to be inspecting me.

A moment later his lead gray eyes shift to my hair, and then back to my face again.

I look away; my face hasn't stopped burning since I laid eyes on him, so I know I must be blushing an ugly red, but I try not to seem too affected.

"There wasn't enough time for everyone to introduce themselves in Italian at the last meeting," Draco says finally, as if we'd been talking about this all along, as if last Friday and Saturday hadn't even happened.

I lift my eyes to his again, and my eyebrows shoot upwards.

And then he reaches over and takes a strand of my hair between his long, thin fingers. The bright red contrasts sharply with the paleness of his skin and the dark material of his fingerless gloves.

I freeze as Draco lifts the bright red hair up to the sun and observes it with almost clinical curiosity; I don't need to look at it to know that it's blazing like fire in the light. He tugs on it a little, and twirls it around.

"We're going to continue with that, next Friday," he says absently, as he drops the strands of hair from between his fingers.

I stand there frozen, as he turns and starts to walk away, without looking at me again.

I look after him in amazement, letting my mouth hang open a bit before regaining my composure. I'm so shocked at what just happened that I don't even have the presence of mind to look at Draco's behind as he walks away.

Suddenly he stops, and turns around. "It takes a lot of guts to kick someone in the balls, Weasley," he says softly, looking past me. "Even if they deserve it."

His gray eyes meet mine again, and I hold his gaze with my heart hammering away against my ribs.

Wait a minute- is Draco saying what I think he's saying? That he _deserved_ to get kneed?

We continue to look at each other in silence, and the sun, now high in the sky, makes Draco's hair shine white. He is beautiful, and looking into his eyes is a trip onto itself...

I watch mutely as a moment later he hops on his broom in one fluid, graceful motion and kicks off, with his silvery blond hair whipping in the air behind him.

**X**

If Draco Malfoy intends to drive me mad, I'd say he's doing a fantastic job of it. It won't be long, now, if things keep going this way.

My sanity, which was never that notable to begin with, is hanging by a thread these days, especially after what happened earlier this morning.

But the thing is, I _refuse_ to be toyed with.

I'm no Athena Krauss, and certainly no Aiken Dunn; I'm _no one's_ bitch. If anything, Draco's surprisingly tender gesture, (both playing with my hair, and letting me know that I was still very much welcome in his club), only strengthened my resolve to move on.

I hate how trembly I get around him, how vulnerable I feel when I look into his eyes, and how stupid I am.

And that's why I'm on my way to the owlery now.

I should explain that after I got back from the pitch I went to my room and buried my face into my pillow until Shawn drew my head back, and told me to stop clowning around. I had started to turn blue.

But I reached a decision.

I wrote two notes which I now intend to owl. One is addressed to Draco Malfoy, and the other to Vanessa Kahn.

This will change things irreversibly, and ensures that I will have practically no excuse to be in the presence of Draco Malfoy again.

I walk quickly now, in purposeful, long strides, anxious to cut the thread that links me to him, to the point where I'm actually excited about it; it has to be this way, otherwise I'll never gather the nerve.

"Hi Pigwidgeon!" I greet my brother's owl shrilly, caressing the soft ridge between its eyes as it hoots cheerfully. "I need you to deliver these at dinner, okay? I have nothing to give you right now –don't look at me like that- I'll give you some treats later, okay?"

I can swear the little owl is _glaring_ at me as I walk away, but I wave at him anyway, turning towards the castle. I think I've spoiled him.

Anyway, if I hurry I might make it to class in time to avoid Flit's look of disappointment. The tiny Charm's Master _adores_ me, and my shortcomings, however insignificant, seem to genuinely hurt him.

I manage to slip in through the door before the bell rings, and Flitwik beams up at me like I'm a two year old demonstrating proper use of a potty.

"Ginevra, welcome!" he says, clapping his hands together delightedly.

Then he notices Shawn, who's just walked in after me, and frowns slightly. "Please take a seat, Ms. Salmone."

Time passes by quickly, and soon I find myself at lunch.

I walk into the Great Hall making it a point to not look in the direction of the Slytherin table, and it's not as hard as it used to be; I'm propelled by the steam of my drastic action: what's done is done.

Dropping my bag at my feet, I slip into the space between Shawn and my brother.

"Hey Gin-gin," he greets me, using my childhood nickname.

"Hey Ronniekins!" I reply sweetly, grinning at his scowl.

We eat mostly in silence, listening to Hermione nag Harry about his overdue Potions parchment, and to Shawn and Dean Thomas discuss how people can get prettier or uglier, the more you look at them.

Really.

I won't bother to describe their silly conversation, but I will say I could have sworn Dean gave me a very pointed look when he expressed the opinion that "some girls just weren't as pretty as they appeared to be at first glance".

Did I mention that I've turned down Dean several times?

Anyway, at half past noon the lunch owls arrive and I look up expectantly.

I'm hoping to get something from Fred, and am not disappointed; Pig drops a thin envelope in my hands and hoots off haughtily, disdaining my proffered carrot.

"Pfft!" I scoff, glaring after the tiny owl.

"What's that?" Shawn inquires, glancing at the envelope curiously.

"Something from Fred," I whisper quietly, slipping her the piece of carrot in my hand. "Cover for me, will you?"

Shawn pops the carrot into her mouth and nods.

I sneak away quietly, taking advantage of the fact that my brother and Harry are discussing Quidditch, and Hermione's talking to Seamus Finnigan, who, seated at Shawn's right, is still suffering from my blond friend's skin-deep disdain.

I decide to head towards the library, where I can be in relative privacy.

Once there I hasten to open the envelope, unfolding a small note.

Written on the parchment is the one line I sent Fred_._

"_What's up?"_

Underneath the pathetic scrawls I call my writing is Fred's bizarre cursive, which -I have to admit- is prettier than mine.

"_The ceiling,"_ is his answer.

I smile at the familiar words, spoken between us a thousand times but never written, until now. This is what I was expecting, but where's the rest?

You might be a bit confused, I realize. Allow me to explain.

This is Fred and mine's little ritual for opening up. It's an old joke, and a fairly stupid one, to be sure, but these are the 'magic words' that precede any sort of mutual confiding between us.

I don't know who first came up with it, but it's something we've been doing for years. In fact, those are the only words that got me to say the little I said about my experience with Tom Riddle, back when I was eleven.

If you think it's weird, I guess it is, but it's our thing, Fred and mine's, and no one else's.

I have a special way to relate to every single one of my brothers. With Bill it's just the way he talks to me as if I were his equal, something he's always done, even when I was three.

With Percy it involves chess, with Charlie feet tickling, and with George miming.

The only one I don't need a secret language or a special code with is Ron.

I guess it's because we've always been the same, him and me, and we were truly inseparable; the second pair of Weasley twins, everyone said.

That is, until he left for Hogwarts, and The-Boy-Who-Lived came into our lives…

Don't get me wrong. I love Harry dearly. He's like a cousin to me, really. But I think I've always resented him that tiny bit for taking Ron away from me, especially during those first years of their friendship, which is when I needed my brother the most.

But I digress. The point is, Fred answered me back, and in our code, but where's the spilling of his guts that's supposed to follow? Surely he must know I was asking about his relationship with Hermione, something I've not done before -not once, though I've _wanted_ to.

I look at the small note in wonderment, and then it dawns on me. Drawing my wand, I tap at the space underneath Fred's writing and watch as a single question forms in the same flamboyant cursive that belongs to my brother.

"_How is she?"_

I nearly gasp.

The question is as much an admission of his love, of the hell he's been going through, as anything else, really; I confess I didn't expect he'd be this direct.

It's a legitimate question, too, and I wonder how I should answer. I mull it over, and after a moment rip a piece of parchment out of my bag, and proceed to write a very long response.

**X**

"Oooh_, mashed potatoes!"_ Shawn exclaims delightedly, sitting down next to me at the Gryffindor table.

I give her a very sidelong glance.

Shawn_ loves _potatoes in any shape or form. It's kind of her quirk. Or at least one of many.

She digs into her dinner merrily, and her joy more than doubles when a certain blond Irishman takes his place beside her. Potatoes and Seamus Finnigan: Shawn's idea of paradise.

"Hey, Seamus!" she says brightly, beaming at him. "Don't you just _love_ potatoes?"

_"NO,"_ he snaps, reaching for a plate of wild rice and meatloaf.

Oh yeah, Shawn's resolve to ignore Seamus fell apart when he actually spoke to her this afternoon, after eighteen hours.

He always does this; if she doesn't fawn all over him, he comes to her. Then as soon as she slips back into stalker mode, he reverts back to his disdainful self.

They have this weird thing, and I just don't get it. If he hates her, why doesn't he sit somewhere else? True, he _tried_ to, at one point, and I found myself rotating around the table in pursuit of Seamus, remaining by Shawn's side staunchly. But she wouldn't do that now, really; that was last year.

I just don't get them, and Shawn won't listen to reason when it comes to Seamus Finnigan.

I say nothing as she tries again, refusing to admit defeat. "Alrighty then, what _do_ you like?"

I sigh and pick at my food, determined not to look up from my plate, even when the Great Hall is filled with the flapping of wings, and packages and envelopes start to drop from the sky.

Pig is up there, doubtless, and I'm not interested in seeing the reaction my missives will elicit in their recipients; Draco's indifference will upset me, and Kahn…who knows how she'll react?

I do not have to wait long to find out.

Vanessa Kahn, seventh year Ravenclaw, is at the moment walking up to me briskly, note in hand.

She's tall and slim, with long, strawberry blond hair, and a very pretty, heart shaped face. At the moment, I can't gauge her reaction from her facial expression, but the fact that she's barreling up to my table in the middle of lunch means that it's certainly significant.

"Weasley," she says curtly, holding my note up in her right hand. "What's _this_?"

I look up at her calmly, my face carefully expressionless, and take the time to set my knife and fork down before replying. "I think it's pretty self-explanatory, Kahn."

She narrows her eyes at me, and we look at each other in silence for a moment. She doesn't like me, and I don't like her. It's one of those things.

I'm aware that conversation has stopped in this part of the table, and I know that there are inquisitive eyes on us. Vanessa Kahn is a very popular seventh year, and the hostility is obvious between us right now. People are interested in seeing what will happen next.

Kahn turns towards the Slytherin table, and I don't have to follow her eyes to know who she's looking at; I wonder if he's looking back.

The seventh year Ravenclaw turns back to me, and I meet her eyes evenly.

"Fine," she says, turning on her heel and walking away.

I don't follow her with my eyes, and continue eating as if nothing had happened, but inwardly I'm trembling with relief.

I honestly have no idea what I would have done if Kahn had put up a fight. I know very well we can't afford to lose another newspaper staff member now, especially not _her_; she has the lightest work-load, which is why I chose her, but her work is important, for she's our sole columnist.

I gambled, and I won- this time.

But as I sit here, tossing wild rice around my plate, I wonder if I can honestly call severing all ties with Draco "winning".

**X**

The lingering doubts I entertained yesterday over dropping Draco dissolve when I walk out into the Quidditch pitch.

We weren't really supposed to have practice today, but the pitch isn't reserved, and Karen Lane, who's a reserve chaser for Gryffindor, asked if I could help her out with a maneuver she's having trouble with; we have a match against Hufflepuff on Saturday, and Karen will be playing for Demelza Robbins, who's out on leave due to her grandmother's death.

I'm looking around for the short sixth year Gryffindor as I walk towards the center of the field, broom in hand, and I can't help but notice how cute everyone's favorite couple looks.

There, on the benches, are a group of Ravenclaws seated around the figures of…_dun dun dun!_ Draco Malfoy and Cho Chang.

Cho's sitting on a bench, in her little uniform, and Draco's sitting on the floor, in between her legs (which, I'm pleased to note, look just as fat as mine do in the navy blue stockings, except mine are a bit longer; point for _me_, which makes the score Weasley 1, Chang 999).

Draco's arms are sprawled over Cho's knees, and –get this- she and Robin Miller, another Ravenclaw seventh year, are braiding Draco's fair hair along the sides of his scalp.

Isn't that the most precious thing you've ever heard?

Anyway, Draco opens his eyes, which match the exact color of the ragged clouds overhead: stormy gray. He spots me as I'm about to hop on my broom, and I freeze with shock when he calls out to me.

"Hey! Weasley!"

Turning my head, I watch as he stands up, brushing the front of his tight, form-fitting black trousers. I try not to look below his belt as he comes over to me, taking his sweet time. I have dreams about those tight pants of his…

Draco walks with that casual grace I adore -and he's wearing the same tight trousers we just discussed- and the same combat boots from his shirtless flight, only this time he's wearing a gray fleece pullover. It's obvious he's been practicing, and I'm not surprised; Slytherin has a match against Ravenclaw on Sunday.

I try not to appear affected by how gorgeous he is, even with braids along the sides of his head, the rest of his white-blond hair hanging loosely. It looks so good, it's like he _meant_ for it to be that way. He has a way of making anything work on him; if it were _me_, I'd look like I had just broken out of St. Mungo's psychiatric ward.

The Slytherin walks up to me and folds his arms over his chest.

"What's this owl I got about you not wanting to work with me anymore?" he inquires calmly, looking me straight in the eye.

The gray sweater makes the pale color of his eyes pop, making them more disarming. I stare at them, transfixed, then blush and look down.

"Is it because Blaise has been teasing you?" he asks quietly, searching for my eyes. "Or is it Nott?"

I shake my head no.

After a moment I manage to look up at him, fighting the wave of pleasure I feel at the fact that he's even _talking_ to me, let alone asking me if I'm being teased.

"I told you… I just don't have time anymore," I state, hating myself for having such a childish voice when I'm trying to sound all busy and mature.

"Really?" Draco asks, arching a pale eyebrow. "So you're renouncing from _all_ of your newspaper duties, or just the ones concerning my club?"

A high pitched giggle erupts from the direction of the Ravenclaws, where, I notice, Cho is sitting with her legs crossed -looking gorgeous- and chatting animatedly with her Housemates.

I flick my eyes back to Draco's again. "I'm not renouncing anything." Except _you_, I want to add. "I'm just delegating things that aren't my _priority._"

"Not your priority?" Draco inquires calmly, an amused smirk playing on his perfectly shaped lips. "_E per questo che tu hai imparato italiano?" _he whispers in a low voice, sending shivers down my spine.

I blush furiously and set my jaw.

"I can't understand you," I say tightly, though I know full well that he just asked me _'is that why you learned Italian?'_

The nerve of him!

By Merlin, his voice is so beautiful, though, his pronunciation just…lovely.

Draco's little smirk broadens into a grin, and I scowl.

Clearly he doesn't believe me, and his smugness, and –quick glance over his shoulder- the sight of Cho holding _his_ broom, are starting to really irk me.

"Vanessa Kahn," I begin firmly, raising an eyebrow, "is a very competent person. I'm sure she can handle your club publicity just fine. She'll do a fantastic job. Really, Malfoy, consider yourself lucky to even have her."

Draco takes a step closer to me, looking down at me intently, and once again intense shivers break out all over my body.

All trace of humor is gone from his face now, and he looks me straight in the eye. "But I don't _want_ Vanessa Kahn," he bites out fiercely, in a low, deep voice that makes something primal coil in my belly, "I want _you."_

I look at Draco sharply.

Somehow, though, I've managed to keep my face perfectly expressionless, and I actually take a step forward, so that our faces are inches away from each other. Draco is looking down at me calmly, and doesn't flinch.

"Well you can't _have_ me," I say softly, my eyes still locked with his.

He hasn't said anything, nor do I wait for him to; a moment later I've hopped on my broom lightly, taking to the sky.

My heart is beating wildly, and I can't say I know where I've been keeping the boldness to do what I just did. The cold wind of mid-October slaps at my face as I rise, and, despite the fact that I've held my own against the prince regent of Hogwarts, the bitter taste of regret lingers in my mouth.

**X**

I'm sitting at the table of the newspaper staff room now, waiting for Cho to start our meeting.

"Hey Gin!" Colin greets me, slipping into the seat next to me. "I need to speak to you after this."

"Sure, Col," I say distractedly, for I notice Cho is looking straight at me with an inquisitive expression on her face.

I suspect she's about to ask me why I've dropped everything to do with the Italian club, and without even consulting her, for that matter.

I meet her eyes and level her with a look that makes her mouth snap shut.

Cho blushes, and then scowls at me, as if realizing I just shut her up. Still, she says nothing to me, and instead announces our upcoming meeting with Dumbledore and Snape to the rest of the staff.

An excited chatter breaks out, which even the formidable Ravenclaw Quidditch captain has a hard time killing off.

"Are we ready for that?" Anthony Pierce, a sixth year and our token Slytherin – he joined the staff last week and is in charge of the sports section- inquires in a haughty tone that is laced with worry, I can't help but notice

"_Ohmygosh!_ And will you guys talk about the launching party?" Trinity Olsen, a Hufflepuff, asks excitedly.

"Yes we're ready, and yes, we will," Cho snaps, frowning. "Now hold your questions until the end!"

She's said it with such confidence and finality I wouldn't believe she harbors her own doubts in regards to Pierce's question if she hadn't told me herself.

"Here's the game plan," she continues, holding up a tiny finger. "We'll print the final draft on Wednesday for release on Thursday, and then we'll start planning the following week's issue. This will be standard procedure for all following issues, got it?"

She goes on to talk about the importance of getting our butts into gear so we can finish with the first issue exactly a week from now.

"Our launching was scheduled for Friday night, but it's been bumped up for Thursday night because of Quidditch conflicts," Cho continues, and I drift off at the mention of Friday.

Italian Club day.

I see the image of Draco, kitchen knife in hand, with his head tilted to the side, his gray on me, looking down at me in that way I don't know how to define, but that sends secret thrills through my body.

There's no reason for me to go back there anymore…

I try to concentrate, and succeed- to a point.

The meeting ends and everyone bustles off, presumably to work on the things they've got pending.

I shoot Aiden Knight -a seventh year Ravenclaw who owes me an article on the increasing incidence of teenage depression- a pointed look.

He winks at me and makes a hand gesture I choose to interpret as "I'll get it back to you tomorrow."

I smile at him, shaking my head, and start to gather my things.

Colin turns to me just then, but before he can open his mouth to speak, Vanessa Kahn accosts me, looking pretty upset.

"Weasley, Draco Malfoy has stood me up three times!" she exclaims angrily, her brow gathering into a frown. "He doesn't answer my owls. He acts like I don't exist!"

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, my mouth hanging open.

I can't deny the sudden -and quite inexplicable- burst of pleasure I feel at receiving this piece of information.

"I'm not going to go around begging him to meet with me!" the Ravenclaw declares airily -and with unmistakable defiance- as she flips her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder. "I'm sending him _one last owl_, and if he doesn't answer-"

"Don't bother, Kahn. Forget about Malfoy," I cut in, looking up at her calmly. "_He _should be the one interested in meeting with us. We're doing _him_ a favor, after all. If he doesn't meet with you, his ad doesn't get published. It's that simple."

Kahn opens her mouth and then closes it. Her pretty features contract in an expression of genuine vexation. "You're right, of course," she says, sounding miffed. "But, you know, I'll try him one _last_ time…"

I hear Colin make a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort next to me, and hide a grin.

"Whatever. Now if you'll excuse us," I say pointedly.

The seventh year Ravenclaw raises her eyebrows, looking from me to Colin before scowling and walking away.

I sigh, and next to me, Colin does the same, though I suspect for different reasons.

"She is _so_ hot…" he says, staring after Kahn's round rear end.

I roll my eyes around, and he grins. "You're cute too, Weasley."

"_Right._ So tell me, what is this about, Col?" I ask, once everyone has cleared out of the room.

Colin takes a deep breath, and some of his stringy blond hair falls over his forehead. "Ginny, I need help," he says seriously, brushing away at the wayward strands. "I have to present the final cut of the pictures we'll be using for the first issue on Sunday morning."

I nod, encouraging him to continue.

"That Pierce kid is a total tool, did you know?"

I give him a 'hey, he's a Slytherin…' shrug.

"I don't want to meet with him to discuss the images I'll give his section," Colin states firmly. "But I need help. Since you're his editor, and you know what his stuff is about, I want you to meet with me and help me out a bit."

'That Pierce Kid', the total tool, as Colin so lovingly refers to him, is doing an important spread on Hogwarts Quidditch. Our school has gained international prominence in the world of pro-Quidditch through the years, seeing as it serves as a recruiting pool for teams all over the world.

The spread is important, and is coming out quiet nicely, I must say. The images need to be up to par. Fortunately, if there's something Colin Creevey has a lot of, it's pictures. Thousands of them.

"Well, sure, I can do that," I say, shrugging again. "When do you want to meet?"

"Saturday night?" he asks hopefully.

"Okay, Creevey. You've got yourself a date," I murmur, giving him a grin.

"Hey!" Colin says, with mock seriousness. "That's sexual harassment!"

"With a boss like Weasley, I can't say I'm surprised," a deep, velvety smooth voice drawls from behind us; an intense thrill goes down my spine.

Colin and I turn to discover the ever-gorgeous Draco Malfoy standing there with a hand on his hip, as if he were posing for a picture.

He's wearing his school uniform, and his hair is done in the exact same style as mine is: the top half is pulled into a ponytail, and the rest is hanging loosely. Somehow he manages to look decidedly masculine, while I look like a little girl.

My heart skips a beat, but I turn back in my seat, ignoring him, and am glad to see Colin do the same.

"Weasley, must you be so uncouth?" Draco begins haughtily, and I can feel him lean forward against the back of my chair.

Before he can finish the thought, Cho Chang sticks her head in from the hallway.

"Hey Draco!" she calls out. "Were you looking for me?"

My hand clenches into a fist instinctively, but relaxes a moment later, surprised as I am at the blond Slytherin's answer.

"Uh…sure, okay," Draco's voice says from behind me, and I feel my hair stir as he walks past me and towards the door.

I fight the urge to turn my face to look at him, and try to remain still in my chair. The need to see him wins, and when I flick my eyes to him, I find he's already looking at me.

A moment later he's gone, with Cho dangling from his arm, and I hunch my shoulders.

"Hey, Gin," Colin says carefully. "Everything okay there?"

"Yes," I say mechanically, standing and grabbing my things. "I'm off to the library. Later!"

I run out of the room and head to the library in quick strides, my heart still pounding wildly. As I'm walking, the little dots in my brain connect.

I nearly trip on my own feet, for I've just realized that, in all probability, Draco went to the staff room looking for _me._

**X**

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Bear with me, I've been going through some fic issues, but I know the direction in which we'll be going in future chaps. Stick with me, we're going places. ;)

Anyway, my favorite part of this one was when Draco asked her if she was being teased by his friends. I love Protective!Draco. :D

**Please review!**


	8. Sogno

Hey guys! This one took a little longer because I've been going through some writer's block issues…meh :(  
Like I've told some of you, it's really frustrating because I know exactly where I want to go, but writing myself there is no longer effortless, for some reason.

Anyway, thanks for the wonderful feedback! Keep it coming!  
Bear in mind that I'm not wearing my mithril armor today, though, so go easy on me; I'm not happy with my writing, lately.

Dedicated to Isabel (**Isabelinagirl16**), for all her wonderful support, and to **quirkyvixen**, who said: "Hello, I'm waiting!", and made me snap out of it and hasten to finish this chapter.

Thank you! :)

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**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Eight: "Sogno"**

_You're so beautiful  
to my own eyes  
for them to really see you_

_  
to my own hands  
For them to touch you._

_Immaculate…_

--"Immaculate", by T.K.R.

**X**

I open the door to the Italian Club meeting room with such violence that it bangs against the wall loudly. I ignore it and burst in, walking with sure strides to the tall blond standing in the center of the room.

Stunning gray eyes regard me calmly as we face each other in silence, our bodies so close we could be touching. The room is flooded in sunlight, and there seems to be a golden glow to his flawless, bare skin, making him seem just that much more unattainable.

Our faces are inches away from each other, and Draco's looking down at me from beneath lowered lashes, unmoving, waiting.

Taking a deep breath, I put my hands on his broad shoulders and stand on the tips of my toes so I can reach his perfect lips. I seal my mouth over his, and discover his lips are warm and just as soft as I imagined, molded as they are against mine. My arms wrap around his neck, my fingers curling around his silky hair as I slide my tongue between his lips, exploring the warmth of his mouth. Thrills of pleasure break out over me as the tip of his tongue meets mine, and he runs his hands along the sides of my body and up to my face, cupping my cheeks.

Draco breaks away and looks into my face, which is framed between the black fingerless gloves he wears. We look at each other in silence, and then he dips his head to capture my lips with his.

He tilts my head, opening me to him as his teeth tug at my lower lip. His skilled tongue thrusts into my mouth deeply, brushing against mine, eliciting a whimper from me quite against my will.

Oh. My. God.

Where did he learn how to kiss like that? Wait, I don't care. All that matters is that he is kissing _me._

The pulsing between my legs rises to an intense heat as Draco's hands slide down to my bum, cupping it firmly.

He's breathing heavily, with his hands on my hips now, pressing my body flush against his as he leads me towards the bed, not breaking our kiss.

I fall back onto the mattress and he quickly follows, bracing his arms on either side of my head, never breaking eye contact. And then he's spreading my thighs and lying over me, and the weight of him feels wonderful.

I run my fingers through the silk of his hair, and then over his pale skin, which is soft as porcelain. My eager hands run down over his bare back, down to his firm bottom, grasping at it through the material of the black pants he wears for Quidditch practice. I give Draco's tight ass a firm pinch, and he jerks his hips against mine in response, causing me to gasp at the friction.

"You like that?" he breathes, and I mumble incoherently, but somehow I suspect he took that as a YES.

I can feel him smile against my lips as he continues to kiss me, leaving me breathless as his hot, silky tongue dances around mine.

The rough material of Draco's fingerless gloves feels oddly stimulating as it scrapes against my skin, as his hands travel under my pleated skirt up the sides of my thighs.

I'm trembling now, and surely he can see that- he can _feel_ it, tangled as he is in me.

"_Ginny_," he murmurs huskily, in a voice that nearly sends me over the edge, "I've wanted this for so long…"

Hearing him say that, and hearing my name on his lips, floods me with almost as much pleasure as the feel of his hot, wet tongue revolving around mine. Almost.

Draco pulls my thighs up, and wraps them around his narrow waist as his hands continue to slide along my skin. His hips are now firmly buried into mine, and I become aware of the large, hard bulge pressing against the inside of my thigh. He shifts his hips and now said bulge is brushing my throbbing center, still covered by my now wet knickers.

I can't begin to describe the perfect feel of Draco's body pressed firmly against the v of my spread thighs. When he thrusts his hips forward experimentally I can't help but suck in a breath, hooking my ankles tightly under his bum.

The heat between my legs has spread to the rest of my body now, as my hands continue to caress Draco's impossibly soft skin, and he trails wet, suckling kisses along my jaw and down my neck.

"_Draco…_" I murmur breathlessly, when his tongue swirls along the shell of my ear.

"Yes," he breathes, "Ginny, say my name like that again, say it."

"Draco!" I say urgently, raising my hips his quite wantonly and without a trace of shame.

He moans against my ear, and I cup his firm ass in my hands, pressing him down to me, repeating his name tirelessly.

He bites his bottom lip, looking at me with those beautiful eyes of his, which have darkened to the color of charcoal; I try not to gape for he is…beautiful.

Draco's hands are at my waist now, rising up my midriff, to work their magic on my breasts, kneading them gently, but firmly.

I bite my lip as the pad of his thumbs flick over my nipples, which are sticking out through the material of my oxford shirt, like tiny spear points. I can't stop myself from moaning shamelessly.

"_Ginny,"_ he groans, his breath hot on my ear.

My trembling fingers fumble with the fly of his pants, and I don't care that he's still wearing the kneepads, or the combat boots- I want him _now._

"Draco…" I breathe, as he buries his face in my breasts, his hands still kneading them deftly. "Oh… Draco!"

"_Ginny!"_

I manage to get the button open blindly, and am about to slide the zipper down when I become distracted by something; I hear my name again, as if from a distance, and can feel myself swaying from side to side.

"_Ginny!"_

I'm being shaken roughly now, and for a moment am filled with confusion as light floods my eyes.

"Ginny!"

"_Shawn?"_

I squint up at her, still fuzzy from sleep and trembling with arousal, and it takes a while for me to realize that I was dreaming just now; no shirtless Draco clad in Quidditch gear, willingly trapped between my thighs.

I could _weep_ right now, really, I could.

"Gosh, Ginny, I've been trying to wake you up for five minutes!" Shawn complains, still a blonde blur in my vision. "I kept saying your name over and over!"

"Yes," I say forlornly, realizing that it _wasn't_ Draco calling out my name insistently.

_Gahhh!_

And I was just getting there, too! I had the zipper of Draco's pants _in between my fingers._ I don't know what I would have done when I got the fly open…it's not like I've ever gotten that far in real life. But still, it really looked like I was handling things well…

_Blasted Shawn!_

I turn to glare at her and immediately have to shut my eyes, still sensitive to the bright light.

"_Why_ couldn't you just let me sleep _five more minutes_!" I growl furiously, pulling up the covers over my face, but my eyes are still burning painfully under my puffy lids.

"_Because_," Shawn snaps back, ripping the covers away, "you've missed breakfast, you _dork_! I _did_ let you sleep, but we have Double Potions in ten minutes, so get up!"

"_Arrrrgghh!"_ I bellow, getting up on my knees reluctantly, my sheets still caught in my fists.

"I brought you a muffin, but I ate it on the way," Shawn informs me unapologetically. "I think I have some potato chips, though," she murmurs a moment later, bending down to rifle through her massive trunk.

I'm ripping my sleeping garb off, still scowling as I change into my uniform. Then I pause and glare at my best friend.

I guess I should thank her, really.

"Shawn, I love you," I mutter quietly. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah, get dressed!" she retorts grumpily, tossing me a bag of chips. "And _never_ call me _Draco_ again!"

**X**

My dream affected me more than I would have expected. The image of Draco's gorgeous, partially nude body tangled over mine still sends shockwaves down my spine.

And the thing is- I've been trying to decide if I'd actually _do _something if I really _could_ have him that way.

It would be a dream come true; _literally- _ha.

But, you see, I've never come close to doing any of that stuff. Would I do it with Draco, just like that?

Doing it with Draco…

Okay, okay, I'll stop.

Seriously, though. Wouldn't I feel like some sort of slut, afterwards? Would I be any different from Aiken Dunn?

It's a prickly thought, a moral dilemma of sorts. It's been floating around the periphery of my mind all day, waiting for me, claiming my full attention at the most inopportune of moments.

Snape's been shooting little glares in my direction since class started; he's so used to having my undivided, slightly drooling attention at all times, that I can tell he's sort of baffled at seeing me staring off into space.

Finally it appears he can't hold back anymore, and he lashes out - taking care not to pass up the opportunity of insulting Shawn in the process.

"I see that being constantly in Ms. Salmone's presence has finally affected you, Ms. Weasley," he says smoothly, in that deliciously deep and arrogant voice of his that is so much like steel sheathed in velvet. "You've become, if possible, nearly as rude and insufferable as your _dearest_ friend. I must say I'm disappointed, but not surprised," he murmurs, dripping sarcasm as his stygian eyes burn into mine.

I blush furiously, but force myself to not look away, meeting his cold, dark eyes unwaveringly.

Shawn squeezes my knee under our desk while glaring at Snape with all her might, but manages to keep quiet, for once. Merlin knows her opening her mouth would only make matters worse.

"Five points from Gryffindor," he continues softly, "for staring at the ceiling through _my_ lecture."

The Potions Master looks at me for a moment longer, his pale, chiseled face hard as stone but completely devoid of emotion. Then he turns to Shawn, and the two have a mini glaring contest before he resumes his lecture, ignoring us both during the remainder of the two-hour lesson.

I go through the rest of the lesson mechanically, and when the bell rings I hasten to pack my things, anxious to get out of there as quickly as possible. I grab my bag and vie for the door, but a smooth baritone voice stops me dead in my tracks.

"Ms. Weasley, a word."

I turn to find my Potions professor standing beside his desk, giving me a good view of his sharp, beautiful profile. He is wearing his knee-high boots and one of those intricate all black ensembles of his I suspect are composed of: a pair of black trousers, a black shirt, a black vest -perhaps a frock or tunic- and his lovely black robes, which have large, flowing sleeves, like sinister wings.

I can't be sure, though; he seems wrapped in several layers of dark cloth, and you can only ever see parts of the whole. I'd love to find out, to unwrap him like a present, like a Chinese box, peeling back layers of black clothes until I get to smooth, pale skin…

But I digress.

Also, it's obvious my delicious dream-romp with Draco has awakened my appetite for man flesh today.

Uh, anyway…

When I reach my Potions Master I find he is looking at the row of flasks that line his desk, filled with today's efforts to produce Pepper Up Potion. Mine is the expected shade of pink, and so are a few of the others, including Shawn's. There is one, however, which is a curious shade of booger-green.

Snape and I both observe it with some interest when it starts to bubble, and then he flicks his wand in a smooth, graceful motion, and the flasks disappear. It is only then he deigns to address me, although at no time does he turn to _look at me,_ you understand.

"Ms. Weasley, you have been _extremely_ distracted as of late. Your performance has steadily declined," he observes tersely, while his long, thin fingers arrange some of the papers on his desk. "Your work is still above par, but I confess I've come to expect more from you."

My face burns with shame and I bite my lip, staring at my feet. "I'm sorry, professor…"

"You seem to be stretching yourself thin these days, Ms. Weasley," he comments dryly, as if I hadn't spoken. "The newspaper, Quidditch…perhaps some personal issues. I am aware that you are, despite your excellence, merely a _teenager_, and as such, prone to foolishness."

What?

Am I crazy, or is there a compliment twisted into that tirade of criticism?

I snap my head up, searching for his eyes, but he ignores me; his words the only indication that he still remembers I am there.

"I deem it pertinent to advise you not forsake your academic performance in lieu of your new interests. You are dismissed."

I look up at him and notice that his handsome –if deathly pale- face is no longer hard, though it remains completely devoid of expression.

"Thank you," I breathe, blushing when he flicks his dark eyes to mine. They are just as unreadable as they ever were, just as intense. "_Professor,_" I add softly, almost as an afterthought, making it all the more obvious that I had not intended to say it at all.

_Thank you, Severus._

He looks at me for the first time, saying nothing and in no way acknowledging my thanks.

I nod and turn away, shifting the strap of my shoulder bag as I walk.

A grin spreads over my features, and a warm sort of glow lights up somewhere inside of me.

Shawn's always told me, with no small level of distaste, that Snape adores me, but I had never dared to believe it until just now.

To me this is as much a declaration of his love -okay, his _respect_ and _concern_- for me as I'll ever receive.

I walk out of the Potions classroom with a slight sprint in my step, all the while resisting the urge to turn back to him- and it is then I encounter the sixth year Gryffindor/Slytherin Potions class.

My stomach does an awkward flop.

All thought of my beloved Snape is instantly forgotten at the prospect of seeing a certain platinum blond, I'm sad to say.

"You weren't at breakfast," my brother comments as he walks by with his courageous friends, not slowing his pace.

"Yeah, I overslept," I call back, as my eyes rove over the small crowd.

"What a coincidence, so did _I_," Blaise Zabini murmurs right in my ear, earning himself a glare from Ron from across the hall. "Except I sincerely doubt you were up late doing the same thing _I_ was last night."

"Hey, Blaise," I say evenly, choosing to ignore the innuendo, and looking past his shoulder.

"Oh, Draco's not here, love," he says casually, but his eyes glint with playful malice. "He's with the big man himself, the top banana."

I turn to glare at the handsome dark skinned Slytherin, noting with some annoyance the almost romantic way his curls seemed to frame his exquisite face. "Why on earth would you tell me that?" I demand heatedly, with my hands on my hips.

"No reason whatsoever," he drawls, his grin widening.

"For your information, I was not looking for your precious _Draco_," I snap, saying the name as if it were some exotic tropical disease. "I was looking for my friend Shawn."

"Okay, no need to get worked up, princess," he returns, raising placating hands, but his sensuous lips are curved into an amused smirk.

I narrow my eyes at him. "My name is _Ginny,"_ I say, meeting his dark, slanted eyes. "Not 'princess' or 'love'."

"Okay, _Ginny_," he says softly, as if savoring the name, his beautiful eyes never leaving mine.

If the words 'devilishly handsome' have ever fit someone's description, it's Blaise Zabini's.

Any other girl would be melting like wax on the floor in that moment, but my infatuation with a certain platinum blond makes me immune to Blaise's considerable charm.

I suspect he knows this.

Anyway, just then we are joined by Thedore Nott and his ever-present ironic grin. Before he can make his undoubtedly picturesque opening remark, however, Shawn's voice interrupts hotly.

_"Ginny!"_ she barks from the end of the hall, with a hint of annoyance. _"Come on!"_

I turn to Blaise with a '_see,_ there really _is_ a Shawn!' look, and he smirks graciously.

"Bye, _Ginny_," he says, as I turn away.

"Yeah- bye, _Ginny,_" Nott adds, in exactly the same seductive, drawling tone Blaise has used.

I roll my eyes but can't help myself from grinning as I turn around, hastening after Shawn.

**X**

After Potions I had Charms and Transfigurations, so I was glad to break for lunch.

Wednesdays are weird because the mornings are packed with heavy subjects, but the afternoons are "free". Free for the Book Club and Film Club, and Quidditch, of course!

At lunch I concentrated on ignoring the Slytherin table, and it wasn't that hard -I received a raging owl from one Molly Weasley, demanding to know what I'd "done to poor Fred."

Apparently he's gone off the deep end, but Mum didn't elaborate.

Here's where my Slytherin-like sneakiness kicks in; I refuse to admit to anything until I know exactly what I'm being accused of.

I owled George immediately asking for a briefing on Fred's newest exploits and sent Errol sans reply back to the Burrow, bearing a pair of socks I'd summoned from my room - dirty socks in need of sewing; I'm expecting a Howler from Mum at any moment.

Then I came to the library, which is where I am now. I've been sitting at the newspaper staff table during the last half an hour or so, and I've met two of the writers I'm editing for already, and have one more meeting left.

Yeah. It's been a long day, and it's far from over.

I've been daydreaming about Draco, hating myself for it, especially when I remember Snape's tongue-lashing; and you know I don't mean the good kind…

I know, I'm grossing you out. You don't want to think about the Potions Master's tongue lashing at anything.

If only you could see him like I do, though…he really _is _handsome!

"Hey, Ginny!" Aiden Knight greets me smiling broadly and I'm suddenly jerked out of my musings. "Sorry I'm late!"

He's a blond haired seventh year, the Ravenclaw in charge of our "serious" article, a piece on "teenage depression"; in reality it's a covert analysis of the effect of the war on the psyche of British wizarding youth.

I wanted to go right out and _say_ it was about the war, but Cho was against it. She said nobody wants to talk about the war anymore, much less read about it. I know she's right; I can't even remember the last time I actually heard someone say the word "war". But just because people want to pretend something didn't happen doesn't mean they should be allowed to.

We're journalists, aren't we? Isn't it our job to denounce these types of collective self-delusions, to speak the truth, even when no one wants to hear it?

Yeah, well. Either way Cho pulls rank, so forget about it.

"Here's the piece," Aiden says, setting a green folder on the table in front of me.

"Good. I'll read it tonight," I murmur, grabbing the folder and slipping it into my bag.

"Uh, Ginny…" Aiden says quietly, taking a seat across from me. "I've been meaning to ask you a question…"

I look at him curiously, for in the past three weeks of working with the seventh year I've never seen him look so serious; he's the type to be making jokes, to be constantly grinning and chuckling.

"Yes?" I ask, tilting my head to the side. "What is it?"

Aiden grins in typical Aiden-fashion, but I'm not fooled; something's up.

"Are you dating anyone?"

"_What?"_ I stare at him, surprise written all over my face. "Aiden, I know for a fact that you have a girlfriend…"

"Oh, no, no!" he says quickly, blushing – another first. "I'm not asking for myself…see, I know someone who fancies you, but he thinks you're probably dating someone. I told him I didn't think so, but now I'm not so sure…"

I gape, trying to make sense of all of this, and the Ravenclaw grins again.

I feel a self-conscious blush spread over my cheeks and have to admit that the thought of being carefully discussed and considered as a viable option by two young wizards is flattering.

"I guess it's unconventional to come straight to you and ask," Aiden says, shrugging, "but I figured it wouldn't hurt…besides, I'm not good at scheming."

"Who is it?" I blurt, staring at him intently.

Aiden's grin widens. "I'm not at liberty to say, my dear. Just know that he's what you women consider an 'eligible' young man…"

I continue to look at him, narrowing my eyes now. "Is he a Ravenclaw, a seventh year?"

He chuckles. "Come on, girl Weasley, are you taken or not?" he asks pointedly, ignoring my questions.

I look at him, considering my options.

It _could_ be Michael Corner. That stupid jerk has tried to get back together with me several times, especially after those smutty stories made their way around the castle. This doesn't feel like something Michael would do, though, and I sincerely doubt it's him; he just stares at me listlessly from the Ravenclaw table, and occasionally sends me chocolates - which I dutifully give to Shawn. It's been several months since his last attempt.

That only leaves one other option...

I grin smugly in anticipation of the look of surprise Aiden will give me, and don't even pause to map out the possible repercussions of what I'm about to say.

"Aiden," I drawl, leaning back into my chair, "tell your 'eligible' friend, _Paul_, that I'm not dating anyone right now."

**X**

I've been in the library for a good two hours.

I was feeling quite pleased when I got Aiden to admit my admirer is Paul Keegan. A second later he just _had_ to go and ruin things, of course, by adding, "He hasn't dated anyone since Cho Chang, and you know she's doing Malfoy again, so I'm glad Paul is ready to move on."

I kept a big, fake smile plastered on my face from that moment on, only half-listening as the blond Ravenclaw tried sell me Paul as if he were a used broom.

"He's got tons of twits chasing after him. Most girls just see his good looks and _massive_ fortune, but Paul's a really sensitive kind of guy. Hahahaha. Point taken, you don't have to roll your eyes at me like that, Gin. I'm laying it on a bit thick, aren't I? I'm just saying, with your sarcastic humor and Paul's quick Ravenclaw wit…" he trailed off meaningfully, and I resisted the urge to snort.

Yeah, cause all I want in a relationship is someone I can tour the comedy club circuit with.

After Aiden left, I switched over to my preferred spot, an out of the way table near the Restricted Section.

I'm sitting here now, tapping at my open Arithmancy notebook, where I've doodled a picture of a girl; a rather unfortunate girl, I might add, who gets mauled by a cat –a remarkably _ugly_ cat...I'm no artist, okay?- and manages to escape, only to be struck down by lightening, later bursting into flames.

It's a crude drawing, but it does a good job of helping me relieve the bitterness and frustration that threatens to consume me.

And yes, though you can't see the doodle's face, her long, silky dark hair bears a striking resemblance to that of a certain seventh year Ravenclaw who shall remain nameless.

So anyway, I'm sitting there, staring out the window with a no doubt _inane_ expression on my face, when who should walk right in but Draco freaking Malfoy, looking like he just stepped out of a catalog.

He's wearing his school uniform, just like all the other boys, but somehow he manages to make the robes, plain gray trousers, jumper and green striped tie look incredibly sexy.

Draco's fair hair is up in that half tied, half loose style that suits him so very, very well. He's walking with that casual grace of his, with his hands in his pockets, and his slate colored eyes are scanning the room lazily.

I feel my skin burn as if it were on fire, and my heart pounds so fast it feels like it will give any minute now.

I try to duck my head to not make it obvious that I was gaping at him, but quite suddenly his stunning eyes meet mine, and I freeze. We stare at each other for a long moment, and I lose myself in those cold, silver depths.

Draco saunters up to me, his face devoid of expression, but I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes. My pathetic dream flashes before my eyes, but falls to the ground like a wounded bird, unable to compare to the real thing; my mind did not do him justice.

"W-what are you doing here?" I inquire, trying to sound nonchalant as he stands there in front of me.

"Looking for _you_," he says plainly, as if it should be obvious.

I raise my eyebrows and stare up at him, trying to not look pleased.

"Why?"

Draco looks at me impatiently and rolls his gray eyes around. "Because, Weasley, I want you to work on my club publicity. How many times do I have to spell it out for you?" He's sneering, but somehow he doesn't look vicious, like he used to back in the day. "Maybe if I draw you a diagram, or write up some brightly colored cue cards for you, you'll finally get it."

"What are you going on about?" I demand, trembling from the inside and trying desperately to hide it. "I can't believe we're going to have this conversation again, _Malfoy_. I specifically assigned you someone to take care of all your club rot," I say haughtily. "Is there a reason why you've stood up poor Vanessa Kahn three times?"

Somehow I've managed to sound indignant, keeping the utter glee I feel out of my voice.

"Yes, there is a reason," Draco says, sounding even haughtier than I just did, and arching a delicate eyebrow.

He leans forward then, resting the palms of his hands on the table between us, and levels his beautiful face with mine.

I look from the tips of his long slender fingers up to his face and meet his eyes, trying not to blush or to breathe deeply; the scent of him has filled my nostrils.

"Why would I bother with your underlings when I can come straight to you?" he inquires softly, in that deep, silky voice of his. "_You_ can handle my 'club rot'. Stop acting like you don't want to."

I look into his eyes, deep pools of gray, like clouds reflected on water. It must be rainy outside...

"I already told you," I mumble evasively, looking away, "I don't have time. I'm _extremely_ busy…"

Draco glances at my doodles meaningfully.

"I can see that…" he begins dryly, and then his fine brow gathers in confusion. "Hey, wait a minute-" he says suddenly, with unmistakable amusement coloring his voice, tilting his head to the side to get a better glance. "Is that _Cho?"_

_"No!"_ I snap, quickly slamming my notebook shut. "It's not."

Draco straightens and looks down at me curiously, a playful smirk lighting his features briefly as he folds his arms across his chest. "I'm sure Cho's not a very good boss," he drawls after a moment, "but she probably doesn't deserve to be set on fire."

I don't comment, but my scowl deepens.

Draco's smirk broadens into a grin. My heart soars as he draws the chair across from me and sits on it with his accustomed grace, leaning forward towards me, his eyes seeking mine.

"Gods, Weasley, you're just full of repressed impulses, aren't you?" he asks, and from his tone I can't gauge if he's being serious or not. "Poor Cho…At least you didn't go and write a lewd story about her -or _did_ you?" he demands slyly, sounding suspiciously hopeful, in my opinion.

I won't deny that witnessing Draco Malfoy deem something 'lewd' is amusing, but I'm in no laughing mood.

"Malfoy, is there a reason why you're still here?" I snap, glaring at him with genuine annoyance.

The last thing I need is for him to come defend his…_lover, _or whatever.

"Oh, and did you want for us to go elsewhere?" he inquires, raising a delicate eyebrow. "Did you have anywhere special in mind, hmm? The dungeons, maybe?"

I look at him incredulously. "I don't understand you at all, Draco," I say suddenly, quite truthfully- and then I snap my mouth shut, realizing what I've said.

The use of his given name catches us both completely by surprise, and we look at each other blankly for a moment.

The last time I called him _Draco_ was the day we almost kissed. It seems so long ago, though in reality barely a week has passed.

I look at him, remembering the feel of his hands on my hips, of his body pressed to mine, our lips almost brushing.

I force myself to tear my eyes away. I don't know what I'm expecting him to say, but he remains silent, watching me with an expression I can't decipher.

"Why are you here? I mean, really?" I tread on resolutely. "Why does it have to be _me_?"

Draco rolls his eyes around, and then smiles enigmatically. He leans back in his chair, balancing on its hind legs. "Does there have to be a reason to everything?" he inquires, looking at me in the eye.

_Why _does he have to make so much eye contact, that wanker; doesn't he know the effect his eyes have on me, on women in general?

Oh…Right. That's _exactly_ why…

"Anyway, I told you, Weasley," he says dryly, "sometimes I feel like I'm a Golden goddamned Snitch, and every single girl in this school is a Seeker," Draco murmurs, looking away from me, past some point over my right shoulder. "Do you have any idea what that's like?" he trails off, and I detect a hint of bitterness in his voice. "At least you -_'I might just go get myself fucked' _notwithstanding-" he says softly, smirking when I glower at him, "you're not like that."

By the balls of Merlin - is it possible that _everyone_ memorized the lines of my horribly embarrassing sexual independence manifesto?

"I already told you I-" I begin heatedly.

"-Do you have any idea of how _insolent_ you are?" Draco cuts me off, crashing down on the front legs of his chair abruptly.

I jump in spite of myself.

He's looking at me intently, leaning across the table towards me. "_Nobody_ talks to me like that, did you know that?" Draco says quietly. "Hardly anybody talks to me, _really_ talks to me, at all. Nobody else has the guts…"

I stare at him in silence, taking in the expression of indifference on his exquisite face, so different from the blazing fire in his gray eyes, and my heart goes out to him.

I know he's right. Most people still think of him as a Death Eater wannabe, as Ron put it. I wonder if the label will ever truly disappear from his forehead.

He's looking at the table in silence, and there it is again, that flash of vulnerability that makes him more beautiful than anything I've ever seen, that makes him almost painful to look at. Achingly beautiful, is what he is, and I never thought something like that existed until I saw him.

"Draco…" I say softly, closing my eyes briefly when he looks up at me.

_Please, I can't, _I want to beg, _please don't look at me like that._

But I say nothing; oddly enough, _I'm_ not brave enough to be vulnerable in front of him.

"What?" he asks impatiently, and I can feel his eyes searching mine, but I just can't look at him.

_He doesn't mind that I'm calling him by his name,_ some part of me notes, rejoicing savagely.

"What were you doing in Dumbledore's office this morning?" I blurt, once again surprising the both of us.

Where the hell did that come from?

"Who told you that I was with him?" Draco demands, and I finally gather the nerve to look at him.

He seems tense and wary all of a sudden, and I curse myself for being so dumb. What possessed me to ask him that?

"Forget it," I say simply, raising my eyebrows and looking away.

Draco glares at me shrewdly for a moment, and then snorts. "Blaise is such a girl," he states scornfully.

He doesn't answer my question and I don't press further. Like I said, I don't even know what prompted me to ask in the first place.

"Listen," he says, and I raise my eyes to his again. "That Ravenclaw you fixed me up with, what's-her-face-"

_"Kahn,"_ I say patiently.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't dare go _near_ her," Draco says dramatically. "She keeps giving me these _hungry _sort-of looks." He shudders delicately. "Really, it's embarrassing to me. She made me blush, the other day, it was _that_ naughty."

This time _I_ roll my eyes around, but I don't doubt for one second Draco is telling the truth. Not about him blushing- _please_. I have no illusions about Draco's virtue - but about the hungry looks…I can totally sympathize with Kahn, there.

Also, I'm incredibly pleased that Vanessa Kahn's sleazy charm did nothing to catch Draco's interest. What was I doing, when I "set them up" as Draco so candidly put it? What, indeed, was going through my head? If they had ended up liking each other I'd be beating myself in the head with my chair right now.

I smile benignly, my mood instantly improved.

"Poor Draco," I say, pouting, and he arches an eyebrow elegantly. "It's no wonder you're the biggest whore in Hogwarts," I continue in mock commiseration. "You have to swat girls away like flies, don't you, you poor thing."

He flashes me a glare.

"Weasley, while I _did_ say I find your brand of incivility refreshing," Draco begins haughtily, "I didn't come here to be insulted by the likes of you. I came to work on the _publicity,_ remember?"

"And who said I'd agreed to such a thing?" I demand, though my mind is already made up to give in; it happened the moment I saw him walking towards me- I knew I'd say YES to whatever he'd asked…thank the gods it hadn't involved heavy roping, or a chicken suit.

Although I wouldn't mind the roping so much, if it was Draco tying me up…heh, heh.

Sorry...

Anyway!

He's looking at me with something very close to a pout of his own, and you have no idea how adorable it is. I fight the urge to smile.

"Fine!" I say, managing to sound annoyed. "I'll work with your infernal club publicity, just so you stop stalking me. But not now. My world doesn't revolve around you, you know," I lie, looking him straight in the eye. "I really _am_ busy, I have places to go."

"Really?" Draco inquires, raising an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Not that it's any of your business," I retort, "but I have club meetings and Quidditch."

"And after Quidditch?" he inquires, settling back in his seat comfortably, with an arm over the back of his chair. Draco's looking at me intensely, very intensely, and I'm trying to keep myself from fidgeting under his unwavering gray eyes.

"Shawn," I say, tearing my eyes away. "I'm meeting Shawn for something."

It's true. I'm helping Shawn study for Potions. Basically what this means is I'm forcing her to sit down and do her homework. She needs for someone to insist upon this kind of thing.

The thought of being with Draco instead of babysitting Shawn crosses my mind, but doesn't linger; as far as I'm concerned, it's not even an option.

"Salmone?" Draco inquires, looking interested. "The blond Snape hates?"

I clear my throat and grin from behind my hand.

Oh, yeah. That's Shawn, all right.

"Hmm…" Draco leans back into his chair, his pewter colored eyes finally leaving my face as he looks towards the ceiling thoughtfully. "She's kind of hot, you know…Tell her she can come to the next club meeting."

I look at him incredulously; is he serious?

"And she can even bring that Irish_ twit_, Finnigan," Draco adds magnanimously, inclining his head slightly as he folds his arms across his chest. "If she can lasso him, that is…"

I glare at him furiously, but before I can open my mouth, his lips curve into a deliciously wicked grin. "Forget it," he says mockingly, rolling his eyes around. "I know that she's your _BFF."_

A snort of laughter escapes me before I can help it_. "BFF?_ Draco Malfoy, I can't believe you just said that…Where on earth did you learn that word?" I say, smirking. "And how do _you _know that, anyway, that Shawn's my '_BFF'_?"

Draco sighs. "Please, you two are joined at the hip. It's pathetic. But kind of… _sexy_…" he fixes his silver eyes on me again. "I mean, you do _everything_ together, don't you? Like…take showers together, and stuff?"

I scoff. "Don't be such a teenage boy."

He shrugs elegantly, completely unapologetic.

"Anyway, I already asked Shawn to come to your club, and she _laughed_ at me," I inform him. "Maybe you should invite her yourself."

Draco snorts. "Sure, I'll _do_ that. I'll go from uptight Gryffindor to uptight Gryffindor, begging them to come to my club."

"Shawn is not uptight!" I protest heatedly.

"Whatever," Draco returns, as I begin to shove my things into my bag. "Where are you going?" he inquires.

I give him a glance as I stand and gather the last of my things. His arms are folded across his chest and he's looking up at me calmly.

"I have to go to the Book Club now," I tell him, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"There's a _Book Club_?" He sounds genuinely surprised.

"Yeah…" I say slowly, tilting my face to the side and meeting his eyes. An idea has formed in my mind quite suddenly. The image of Draco and I, sitting side by side, our heads bent over my copy of _"In the Swirls of the Pensieve"_…

"How about it?"

"Excuse me?" he inquires, raising her eyebrows.

"You can come with me, to the Book Club!" I say suddenly, smiling widely. "_You_ like to read, I've seen you."

Okay…that was kind of pathetic.

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Your thought process is quite complex, Weasley," he says sardonically, and I stick my tongue out at him.

"Nice come-back," he says, smirking.

Then he stands.

I watch as he walks around the table, coming to stand next to me, and my knees wobble at his proximity.

"The Book Club, huh?" Draco says quietly, looking at me with a curious expression on his perfectly symmetrical face.

I nod. "It's great…" I squeak, and then clear my throat. "I think you'd like it," I say, sounding more like a teenager and less like a scared five year old this time. "But if you're busy…"

Draco looks at me impassively and I fidget slightly in spite of myself.

"Would you like me to come with you?" he asks quietly, his eyes running up and down my face and then meeting mine.

I open my mouth and close it again, shifting my eyes to the knot of his tie. It's perfect, of course, and I'm trembling like jelly, of course.

"Well," I say, looking down at my shoes and then up at him again. "I mean, if you want to…"

His silver eyes are regarding me intently, and I gather my nerve.

"_Yes_, I'd like you to come."

Draco's face remains expressionless, but the way he's looking at me is making my heart rate accelerate almost painfully.

"Okay then," he says, in that deep melodious voice that sends ripples through me. "I'll come with you."

Right.

It takes every ounce of my willpower to stop myself from smiling goofily or, worse, squealing delightedly. I simply nod and turn away, walking towards the exit of the library, and Draco follows me.

* * *

_Sogno_: dream.

I can promise you an interesting encounter at the Book Club meeting…You know how bookish those Ravenclaws are…

Mwa ha ha ha.

So yeah, those of you who did not review the previous chapter because of the block last week during ff. net's interminable upgrades, feel free to make it up to me this time by giving me an extra-long review! ;p

To all my anonymous reviewers: Thanks so much! I love anon. reviews, you guys are so sweet. I've gotten some wonderful compliments and I'm sad that I can't reply!


	9. Furia

**Note:**

**1-The rating of this fic has been upped to M** for constant Weasley swearing (I've been told that it's crass :D), and the possibility of more lemony freshness in the near future. Yes, we're getting there, you guys.

On to the fic, then.

Thanks to Juliana and Nimph! And thank all of you for reviewing. :D

_Furia:_ rage. This a very ANGRY chapter. There's _a lot _of 'rage' and _everyone _glares at someone else at least once. The person you most expect to be angry, though, is not. ;p

* * *

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Nine: "Furia"**

_I don't like you  
but I love you_

_Seems that I'm always  
thinking of you,_

_Oh oh oh, you treat me badly,  
I love you madly,  
You've really got a hold on me._

_Baby, I don't want you,  
But I need you,  
Don't want to kiss you,  
but I need to._

_Oh oh oh, you do me wrong, now  
My love is strong now,  
You've really got a hold on me._

_You've really got a hold  
on me._

_Baby, I love you,  
And all I want you to do is just  
Hold me, hold me, hold me…._

_Tighter…_

--"You've Really Got a Hold On Me", by The Beatles (cover)

**X**

Draco falls into step next to me, not once looking at me, but there's something about the way we're walking, I guess, that makes it obvious we're together.

I try not to look at him too much, trying to appear just as nonchalant, because I can _feel_ people's inquisitive eyes on us, I can almost _hear_ the whispers as we walk by, threading our way through library tables.

If my schoolmates were surprised when Draco sat with me at my table, they're simply _shocked_ to see us leave together. They probably think I've Imperiused him, or something.

Stunned pairs of eyes dart to us like we're magnets, but Draco's sauntering around like he's got a bullet-proof vest on; he doesn't seem to care, and, frankly, neither do I –I'm too ecstatic and strung up.

I've been in his company for the last hour, just talking, and it's been…it's been _wonderful_, really. I truly _enjoy_ talking to Draco, even when we're both being snarky and immature. It's so liberating to just be myself, in spite of everything – and yes, I'm aware that I've just implied I'm snarky and immature.

When I'm talking to him, I hardly have time to process things; it's wham-bam, back and forth, like ping-pong - there's no time to really _think_. I'm operating on instinct, almost, and I have the feeling that Draco can handle everything I dish out. Well, _everything _save an untimely profession of undying love.

I can't imagine what his reaction would be if he knew how I truly feel about him.

Hold on…I'm being sarcastic - in case you can't tell, I do not _love_ Draco Malfoy.

I do not.

So yeah, I have the most surreal feeling, walking out of the library knowing that Draco's coming with me. Never mind that he made me ask him to come; if he hadn't wanted to, he wouldn't have accepted.

"Weasley," he says suddenly, turning to eye me skeptically. "There really_ is_ a Book Club, isn't there?" he demands, peering at me suspiciously, but I can see his silver eyes twinkling with amusement. "This isn't some cunning plan that ends with me bound and gagged and locked up in a trunk full of your underwear for the next couple of months, is it?

"Pffft, _no_." I snort at the imagery. "It's not full of _underwear_, Draco, it's full of sweaty Gryffindor Quidditch gear. Still want to come?"

Draco rolls his eyes around and says nothing.

"I thought so," I say, grinning. "Kinky, aren't we?"

He snorts for all reply and we continue to walk in amenable silence along the more or less deserted corridor. Again, people look at us curiously, but Draco pretends not to notice and I follow his lead.

We climb the stairs that lead to the second floor and wait patiently at the top of the staircase. After a few moments it begins to move slowly but surely towards our destination, the left wing.

"I've been meeting with him for a while now," Draco says suddenly, shifting his pewter colored eyes to mine. "With Dumbledore. I wasn't in trouble or anything. We just…talk."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but Draco's already turned away.

"Oh," I say casually, shifting my bag's shoulder strap.

"Yeah." Draco shrugs elegantly and his eyes fall on my hand, the one that's resting on the rail of the staircase. "I've been meeting with him once a week since…" He frowns, and I distinctly remember Cho Chang saying nobody wants to talk about the war. "Since last year. He's not bad, really."

"No, he's not," I murmur quietly, looking down at my well-worn Mary Janes. "I used to talk to him, too. After…after my first year."

Yeah, that's not entirely true; Dumbledore used to do most of the talking, really. In fact, I would never say more than "Yes", "No", or "Hmm".

I had four or five meetings with him, and though I didn't see it at the time, those 'conversations' really helped me realize that I wasn't blamed, that I wasn't being judged or condemned over what had happened with that whole evil diary business, and that I shouldn't feel guilty.

Dumbledore has a knack for mending broken wings, I guess.

Draco is looking at me again, his silver eyes flicking over me with something like appraisal and understanding, but he doesn't comment, for which I am grateful.

"He was actually the one who gave me the idea to start the Italian Club," he says, after a moment.

I'm not really surprised to hear this, for some reason, and am glad.

"Yeah, Dumbledore has great ideas," I say, smiling.

It's wonderful to know that Dumbledore has become Draco's mentor, in a way, like he is to Harry. Merlin knows Draco must have needed guidance through everything. It must have been really hard for him, that period just after the end of the war, having to hide out at Grimmauld Place with his mum, while the last of the Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, were caught.

As usual, our Headmaster seems to be one step ahead of everyone; Draco's a natural born leader, and he already shows promise as a powerful wizard. It's obviously in the Order's best interest to have him as a friend, as opposed to a foe...and you gotta get them while they're young...

I'm not saying Dumbledore's calculating…well, yeah; he is.

Still, I'm sure the old man is fond of Draco. How can you not be?

The stairs have stopped moving and we step off, winding our way down the corridors.

I look up at Draco as we walk, thinking that throughout the war I was too busy worrying sick over my family and the Trio to wonder about the fate of the Malfoys. I was too busy _surviving_, and when I overheard that Draco had had some sort of role in the downfall of Voldemort and his own father, I didn't give it much thought. He was just Draco Malfoy, Slytherin git extraordinaire, back then, and I didn't pause to wonder how he dealt with all the pain.

He's looking back at me seriously now, oblivious to the course of my thoughts.

"So you don't need to talk about all that stuff anymore?" he asks gently, and again I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

Could it be that while I was pondering Draco, Draco was pondering _me?_

And more importantly, is _Draco Malfoy_ offering to listen? To listen to _me_, Ginny Weasley?

"Well," I murmur, realizing I've stopped walking, and he has too. "Not anymore. I never…I never _did_ want to talk about it, but I guess I needed it. Now…now I just pretend it never happened."

Draco's looking at me in silence, and I can't tell what he's thinking.

"Well, Dumbledore has some sort of talented youth recruiting program going on," he says dryly, and I laugh in spite of myself; this is one instance in which I'm happy to _not_ have out-smarted a guy.

"He reached out to me and Scarhead," he continues - only the need to constantly put himself before Harry would cause a breach in Draco's perfect grammar. "And he reached out to you, once," he goes on, looking me in the eye. "If you need to talk to someone, I'm sure he wouldn't mind listening."

Damn. And here I thought he was offering his understanding, Quidditch-toned shoulder for me to cry on…

I sigh dejectedly.

"And…" Draco adds quietly, "neither would I."

My head snaps up so fast I fear I may have pulled a muscle.

I look at him with barely concealed awe, taking in the serious, almost _kind_ way his stormy gray eyes are regarding me, and feel a smile spreading over my face. I know my cheeks are dimpled and my eyes are squinty right now- it feels like _that_ smile, that _huge_ smile I haven't smiled in ages.

Suddenly my heart is beating a million miles a minute again, and I have this huge impulse to just _hug_ him. I want for nothing more than to throw myself at Draco and wrap my arms around him…

_But _- it would probably freak him out, and I don't want him to think I've misinterpreted his words.

"Thanks," I say, still smiling widely, and for some reason I suddenly feel like crying. "And you…" I mumble, suddenly looking at his chin instead of his eyes. "If you ever need someone to talk to, besides Dumbledore that is…I…I mean, I…wouldn't… mind…" Great. _That _was articulate; way to go, Gin.

Our eyes meet again, and I discover Draco is looking at me curiously. To my immense relief he nods almost imperceptibly, and a moment later his delicious looking lips curve into something between a smile and a smirk.

"Well, come on," he says, "let's go to this club thing already."

I nod and somehow manage to continue walking, though my legs are wobbling as if they were made of jelly, or any other material of an equally mushy consistency.

Soon we arrive at the room that serves as Book Club headquarters and I find my heart hasn't stopped its wild hammering; quiet the contrary.

"Ready?" I ask, when we reach the mahogany door. I imagine if I were Draco I'd be a bit nervous right about now; I'm sure that everyone's going to be flabbergasted when he comes in, especially in _my_ company.

But the blond looks at me impatiently and rolls his eyes around. "Am I ready?" he parrots, not without some scorn. "No, I'm _not_; I'd like a moment to powder my nose, Weasley."

I roll my eyes around and open the door, but I'm feeling an intense tingle of excitement mixed with apprehension. Gods, I'm _worried_ about him, for some reason.

We walk in, and I'm only half surprised when the room falls completely silent.

There are about fifteen people present -Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, mostly, though I see two of my housemates standing to the left- and everyone is looking at us with badly concealed shock.

Other than Draco, there isn't a single Slytherin to be found here.

"Ginny; _Malfoy!"_ Yvrose Girard, the club founder, says quickly -and with obvious surprise- as she walks up to us.

Ginny _Malfoy. _

I grin widely in spite of myself. "Hey Yvrose!" I chirp, but her eyes, which are the color of warm honey, are on Draco.

"Hi!" she says, looking back at me, and I can tell she's trying to get her bearings; it's obvious the last person the pretty, dark-skinned Ravenclaw expected would show up at her club is the leader of the aristo-brats of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy himself. "Welcome!" she says, smiling nervously. "Please, have a seat, we're about to start in a minute."

I nod, grateful for the welcome, and look at Draco.

He shrugs indifferently and saunters over to two empty chairs, looking completely at ease, mind you. It appears I'm more nervous over his situation than he is.

I should have known.

We sit side by side and Draco leans back on the hind legs of his chair, scanning everything and everyone with a look of slight boredom before turning to me again.

"So what do we do _now?"_ he drawls petulantly.

I laugh and dig into my bag. "We talk about books, silly. And we read. Here." I hand him my copy of _"In the Swirls of the Pensieve", _the novel we're discussing, all the while admiring the way his pale, slender fingers close around _my _book.

Draco inspects the worn paperback and arches an eyebrow with something like approval.

"Aurelius Parker-Smith," he says, reading the author's name off the front cover. "He's not bad. I haven't read this one, yet. How is it?"

"_Not bad," _I say, smirking-a-la Malfoy as I borrow his expression for "great", or "excellent".

Draco looks at me and smirks back, handing me the book. "You know, Weasley," he drawls quietly, leaning into me, "you're 'not bad', either- for a _Gryffindor."_

"Why Draco, how gracious of you- are you feeling alright?" I roll my eyes and smile at him goofily, and for one brief, shining moment_ he actually smiles back_.

A smile, a real, genuine smile graces Draco Malfoy's flawless, perfectly symmetrical face, and it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, like the sun peeking from behind stormy clouds, blazing in all its splendor, in spite of everything.

Just as I'm about to melt like the proverbial snowball in hell, Draco looks past my shoulder, and he _freezes_. His face becomes completely expressionless, and his silver eyes harden like I imagine water does when it's turning to ice.

It's kind of scary, actually, to watch someone transform so drastically and so effortlessly, in a matter of seconds. It's as if he's slipped on a mask made of living flesh.

I turn around and I'm not sure _what_ I was expecting to find behind me –Lucius in a catsuit, maybe?- but it's certainly not the handsome seventh year Ravenclaw that is Paul Keegan. And yet there he is, standing there with his black hair slightly disheveled and spiky -again, his vague similarity to Harry doesn't go unnoticed by me- and his bright blue eyes fixed on Draco coldly.

The two glare at each other for a moment, but then Paul turns to me and smiles, his expression filling with warmth.

"Hey Gin," he says, meeting my eyes and ignoring Draco entirely.

"Hi, Paul," I answer guardedly, wondering what the hell is going on. "…How are you?"

"Good, I'm good. Uh, listen, can I talk to you?" he asks, still refusing to acknowledge Draco's presence. "…_In private?"_ he adds pointedly, this time flashing the blond next to me another glare, but it's lost on Draco - the Slytherin is doing an excellent job of ignoring both Paul _and_ me.

"_Now?"_ I say, glancing around for Yvrose, only to find she's chatting animatedly with another Ravenclaw. "I think we're about to start, Paul…"

"It will only be a minute," he says confidently, holding out his hand to help me stand.

I look from him to his proffered hand - the fact that it's there makes it all the more difficult to turn him down, and I'm sure he's aware of that fact. "Well, okay," I murmur, taking his hand and turning to Draco as I rise to my feet.

The gorgeous Slytherin is once again leaning back on the hind legs of his chair, looking fixedly at something in front of him with the air of someone who's doing mental math with large sums and can't be bothered.

"I'll be back in a minute," I tell him, and he doesn't so much as look at me or acknowledge I've spoken in any way.

Is it me, or do Draco's usually pale cheeks look like they're tinted with pink?

I have this tremendous sense of foreboding as I follow Paul, who's leading me to the two chairs directly behind mine and Draco's; the only chairs left unoccupied.

We sit together and I can't help but notice the handsome seventh year hasn't let go of my hand yet - that, and the fact that the collective eyes of _everyone _seem to be on the two of us.

Again, maybe it's just me.

"I just wanted to apologize for what happened with Aiden," Paul murmurs, giving me a decidedly unapologetic and completely charming flash of his pearly white teeth. "I had no idea he was going to do that…"

I laugh nervously, painfully aware of Draco's tense shoulders, and the way his beautiful, long hair falls over the collar of his obviously tailored robes; it looks almost white against the dark of the cloth.

"So," Paul continues – he's let go of my hand, but now he's leaning into me, so that I catch the scent of his cologne. It's musky, spicy - nice, really, just… so different from Draco's.

I look at his handsome face, forcing myself to concentrate.

"Are you okay, Gin?" he asks, peering at me intently.

I nod vigorously like a dufus. "Yeah, yeah… Uh, Paul? I didn't know you were in this club," I blurt. "I hadn't seen you here before."

"Oh, I'm not," Paul says grinning, "I came looking for you - _Aidan_, again," he explains, sounding somewhere between sheepish and unapologetic; I do my best to smile back. "Listen, Ginny, I wanted to ask you something…"

My eyes shift to Draco, who's casually reclining in his chair - but he's leaning so far back on its hind legs, I fear he may tip over.

It's a nice try, really, and a less experienced eavesdropper might not even notice, but I'm far too accustomed to spying on my brothers and the Golden Trio; it's obvious to me that my beloved fair-haired Slytherin is listening in.

So here's the thing: Paul's about to ask me out, I just _know_ it - heck, even the precariously balanced Draco seems to know it - and in this split second a thousand thoughts are flying through my head.

I'm torn here; I have absolutely _no _intention of saying yes to Paul, for a number of reasons.

To start off, I haven't the slightest romantic interest in Paul Keegan, but it's obvious _he's_ interested in _me_. Part of me wants to rub it in Draco's face: _you're not the only one who can go out with totally hot, interesting people, you big slut!_

But I can't bring myself to play with someone's feelings like that, especially not someone as nice as Paul.

The biggest reason, though, is how great things seem to be going between Draco and me; it seems like we're finally getting somewhere, and I would hate to do something to screw things up!

But - I _don't_ want to reject Paul in front of Draco, who, like I said, is _obviously _eavesdropping - I wouldn't want to humiliate the Ravenclaw like that, especially not when there seems to be some sort of strife between them. Also, Draco Malfoy's ego is big enough as is. If he sees me turn down one of the most sought after guys in school he'll put two and two together and realize he's got me wrapped around his little finger. And lastly, the Draco-Cho-Aiken connection is still nagging at me.

"-Paul," I say carefully, just as he opens his mouth to ask the dreaded question. "Can we please talk later? I think Yvrose is about to start the meeting, and…I'd like to tell you something, but…you know…I'd like some time to talk."

"Oh," Paul says, sounding surprised. "Uh, sure…"

I smile at him. "I better go back," I say, standing.

"Okay Ginny," he says, managing to sound kind of sexy - and for some reason reminding me of Blaise. "See you in a bit."

I love the way those two say my name.

I only wish that _wanker _-_Draco_- would deign to. After all the progress we seem to have made, he still calls me 'Weasley', and to be quite honest, it hurts; it's so impersonal, kind of like he's holding me at arms' length.

Anyway. I've made it to my chair, and settle into to it quietly.

Draco's sitting calmly next to me, with his legs crossed at the knees and his arms folded over his chest; the picture of relaxation. He's got such an effortless grace about him…

Ginny, _focus!_

Okay.

Though visibly he appears to be the same Draco I walked in with, I can sense the change in him as clearly as if he'd spoken to express his irritation.

I'm HAPPY that he cares enough to be upset, and yet…don't kill me, but, I'm _upset._ I'm upset that I've upset _him_, although I haven't _done_ anything. Gosh, I can't explain. I just…I want him to be _happy._

I know how lame that sounds, but it's the only way I can explain the mass of emotions I have swirling inside of me.

I risk a glance at his face and it's completely devoid of expression, and the flush, real or imagined, is gone. The tension, however, is not.

I continue to look at him, and he flicks an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder before turning to me.

"You know what, Weasley," he says suddenly, meeting my eyes with his cold, steel gray ones. "I have things to do. Later."

I stare at him incredulously as he rises to his feet majestically, like he's been holding court and is about to retire to his quarters to be hand-fed grapes; to be honest, he _has been_ holding court. And he probably _has been_ hand-fed grapes in his quarters.

Yvrose has drawn a chair and is about to open her mouth when Draco stands, and immediately all eyes flick to him in fascination.

"Excuse me," he murmurs politely, looking at her briefly as he walks by.

She nods, obviously surprised, and stares after him, along with the rest of us.

A deathly silence reigns over the room. And then he closes the door, and suddenly excited whispers break out from every corner.

**X**

I had to sit in that damned Book Club for an hour and a half, staring at the wall vacantly, thinking about Draco and why he left, and _how_ he left. Really, why is it that he can hurt me so easily? I feel like I've been slapped in the face, for some reason.

Gosh and I had to sit there like an idiot, there was no way I could leave. If I did, everyone would assume I'd left after Draco - after he left everyone turned to stare at _me_.

"So," Paul asks, as we finally walk out of the meeting, "are you and Malfoy…"

"-What?" I demand, turning to glare at him. "Are we _what?"_

He raises his dark eyebrows, looking at me with obvious surprise. "Nothing, I was just wondering if you were actually friends with him. Is everything okay, Ginny?"

_If you were actually friends with him_; as if Draco had cooties. Really, this Ravenclaw has got some nerve.

"I'm fine, Paul," I snap angrily, and then realize I'm being a bitch. "I'm just…I'm tired, and I still have the Film Club to go to, and then Quidditch."

Paul is looking at me intently, with his head cocked to the side. "You're angry because Malfoy left. You _are_ friends," he states, sounding vaguely surprised.

"Well…yeah," I say, frowning, for I just realized he's right; aside from this attraction or whatever it is between us, over the past few weeks Draco and I somehow managed to become something like…friends.

Paul's looking at me carefully, and I realize I've done an excellent job of looking crazy today.

"Yeah, we're friends…" I say, biting my lip. "But…I don't know, I really don't want to talk about that now. I wanted to tell you something…"

His face instantly brightens, and I wonder how I'm going to go about this.

"Yeah?" he says softly.

"Paul…would you like to grab a butterbeer in Hogsmeade next weekend?"

The handsome Ravenclaw actually looks surprised before his face breaks into a dazzling smile. "Ginny, I was just about to ask you that, back in there-"

"But, Paul…the thing is, I _like_ you-" I cut in quickly, and he instantly sobers, as if sensing the catch. "But…" I press on, trying not to lose my nerve, "I want to be your friend. I want to get to know you, but I - I mean…I don't want to _date_ anyone right now…"

He looks at me quietly, as if trying to pick up on something I haven't said.

I look back at him calmly, tensing in preparation to deny all versions of Draco-infatuation.

But when he does speak, Paul catches me completely by surprise.

"Okay, you're the boss," he says, smiling brightly, and I find myself staring at him incredulously. "Whatever you say. Meet me at The Three Broomsticks on Saturday, after your Quidditch match. It's _not_ a date, right?"

In spite of the foul mood that overtook me since the moment Draco left, I find myself smiling back.

"Okay, Paul. Not a date," I say, rolling my eyes around.

Somehow this guy has one-upped me, wrapped me up in a loop of my own warped logic. Still, I don't feel duped, and I'm actually looking forward to our date that's not a date. I really _do_ like Paul, if only as a friend, and it's nice to have a charming, totally hot, not-Draco guy to talk to.

**X**

It's Thursday.

I won't deny that I've been thinking about Draco nonstop.

Still, I've started to get excited about this whole Paul thing.

I think it's Shawn's doing. She's been partial to "that Ravenclaw hunk of man-meat" -as she's so cheezily started referring to him ever since our run-in in the stairs last week. Upon hearing the story of how he showed up at the Book Club she's been singing his praise all the more.

"Ginny, forget about that blond bimbo!" she commanded, and I can only assume she meant _Draco_. "Paul Keegan is one of the hottest guys in school! Plus, he actually looks like a _man_; in fact, he looks like a manly…_Harry. _Malfoy…Malfoy's prettier than _you_ are!"

Gee, THANKS, Shawn.

Then at lunch today, while Draco was busy _completely ignoring me_ from the Slytherin table, Paul came up to me to "say hi", and introduced himself to a bubbly, giggly Shawn.

I suspect his coming over was some sort of male power play for Draco's benefit: a display of pissing around to mark his territory - _me_.

See, rumors have been flying around all over the castle since yesterday: Draco and I were spotted cozying up in the library, and then we left together- no doubt to snog, or more than snog.

Seriously, who gets "cozy" in the library? Have you _seen_ Madam Pince? She has a face like a bulldog and a temper like a rabid barracuda on crack – no one wants to provoke it.

Tell that to Ron; he's hysterical again, and nothing I said could convince him I was _not_ "cozying up" to his blond nemesis.

"Ginny, I don't care _what_ you do," he lied - proving that my whole 'stay out of my fucking business' rant did work - "but, by Merlin - does the _whole school_ have to know about it?"

He was actually glad when Paul came around, and I could just see his little eyes lighting up; for a moment he reminded me of Mum and it was creepy.

Anyway, I'm glad that at least in rumor-land I can get some action with Draco, since it appears like I never will in _real_ life.

Once Paul left I concentrated on my peaches and cream yogurt, trying to ignore Hermione's knowing grin, and somehow resisting the urge to look towards the Slytherin table.

That was a couple of hours ago; Shawn and I are now headed towards Double Potions. We had a free period, and instead of studying, went back to our dorm to nap - I know of at least one former bushy-haired girl who would disapprove, but whatever.

Now Shawn's ambling around like we haven't a care in the world, and I wish she would walk a little faster because-- uh-oh.

The bell just rang and dozens of doors seem to be flying open along the corridor, with hundreds of people pouring out of each classroom. We're exactly two stories up, which means we're not in the dungeon, which is where _Snape_ is…

"Merlin's pants! We're going to be late, Shawn!" I shriek, grabbing her by the hand.

She's remarkably unruffled for someone who's at the risk of losing House points from Snape simply because they exist.

I drag her along and we practically fly through the corridors and down the stairs that lead to the dungeon level, getting there in forty-five seconds flat - a new record. My heart is pounding against my ribs with the exertion - and with fear. I can't imagine what my beloved Potions Master will say if I screw up again.

However when we reach Snape's lair (and tell me that doesn't sound sexy!) we discover the doors to his classroom are still closed, and our classmates are milling around outside - obviously he hasn't released his two o'clock class yet.

I collapse against the wall, thanking my lucky stars that I've managed to avoid humiliation at the hands of my second favorite person in Hogwarts. Yes, he's been demoted; this newfound Malfoy-obsession is not to be taking lightly.

Just when I've caught my breath the doors to the classroom burst open, and Parvati Patil stalks out angrily, followed by Lavender Brown, and, at a slower pace, the rest of the class.

_This is Draco's class_, part of me whispers, even while my attention is directed towards the tears of anger in Parvati's eyes and the flush of red in her cheeks.

"Aren't you going to go after her?" I demand of Ron, when he walks by me, flanked by his two inseparable friends.

He shrugs, making an 'I'll tell you later' face, and continues walking after Hermione and Harry.

Interesting - and yet, not really.

The rest of the class ambles out, some pausing to talk on their way to their next class, and soon the hallway is filled with Slytherin and Gryffindor fifth and sixth years.

I look around for Draco and spot him immediately; his fair hair is hanging loose over his shoulders, and in contrast to the dark of his robes, it shines white, like a beacon. He and Blaise are talking quietly, walking slowly towards the stairs, and Blaise has his arm thrown over Draco's shoulders.

I notice I'm not the only girl who's looking at the pair of them - can you say 'eye candy'?

Whatever it is they're talking about appears to be serious, judging from the look of concentration in Draco's chiseled face as he listens, and the urgency in Blaise's posture as he whispers in his best mate's ear.

Suddenly Aiken Dunn, who is –of course- in my Potions class, comes bounding up to the two boys in her tiny-miney uniform, unceremoniously coming between them and throwing herself at Blaise.

He brushes her away without missing a beat and continues talking to Draco.

I note two things with no small level of satisfaction:

First, Aiken has crashed against the wall, propelled by her own momentum and Blaise's gentle- but effective- warding off motion; and second, Draco's attention is no longer on his friend, but on _me_. His pewter colored eyes fall on me for the briefest of moments, quite by accident, I'm sure, because a moment later he's turned away.

Need I tell you that in that second our eyes met my heart accelerated alarmingly fast, as if I had just nose-dived on my broom, or something?

I continue to look at him, willing him to look back at me again, but he doesn't.

Just like he's been doing since yesterday, Draco appears to be ignoring me quite effortlessly.

I scowl and stomp over to Shawn, who is -of course- busy talking _at_ Seamus, who's meanwhile busy inspecting his fingernails like the big pussy that he is.

"Come on, Shawn, let's go-" I begin, but am suddenly cut off by a voice I know well.

"Hey," a lovely baritone calls from across the hall, _"Salmone."_

I freeze, recognizing Draco's voice immediately.

A stunned silence follows, as if every single conversation had come to a screeching halt. I notice the way everyone seems to be looking from Draco to Shawn, including Ron and his friends, and Blaise and the rest of Draco's clique- Slytherins and Gryffindors alike seem to have been frozen in place, waiting to see what will happen next.

"_What_?" Shawn demands, glaring at the platinum blond with all her might; I wince.

"Come to the Italian club, next Friday," Draco says calmly, as if this weren't their first-ever conversation. "And don't be late!" he snaps, as an afterthought.

Shawn continues to glare at him, and I look from her to Draco -who continues to ignore me- wondering what my friend will say next.

"_Fine_!" she bites out, and I find myself smiling with relief.

I look at Draco again, and his eyes flick over me briefly, but in no way does he acknowledge me, or my smile.

I don't care.

Okay, I do, but I'm too busy being happy over the fact that he's asked Shawn to come to his club, _like_ _I told him to._

And to my immense surprise, I notice the intense way Seamus Finnigan is looking at my best friend.

As I watch he turns to glare at Draco, who's walking away with his posse, and then looks back at Shawn again, his brow furrowed with something like…worry?

Conversations have broken out again all over the hall, and as I lead Shawn into Potions, my smile broadens.

Now _that's_ interesting…

**X**

It all went downhill from there, and I suppose what happened is my fault: I had to try my hardest to concentrate on Potions; even my beloved Snape wasn't enough to capture my attention today.

Shawn had to nudge me several times, until Snape actually asked her, none too politely, if there was something wrong with her elbow.

"No!" she snapped. _"Professor."_

He looked at her calmly for a moment before pursing his thin lips to say, _"Detention._ And five points from Gryffindor. I can't decide why – for being insolent or for being jittery. Either way, I find you simply unpalatable."

Shawn opened her mouth to reply but I kicked her ankle under the table.

She glared at me and said nothing. But I couldn't stop her from snorting loudly when Snape praised a Slytherin for last week's Potions project. I know for a fact that hers was better, but really, must she bait him?

"Is there something wrong with your nose?" Snape demanded icily, glaring at her.

"With _my_ nose?" Shawn replied incredulously, and then _laughed._

Everyone froze - 'Hook-nosed Bastard' is one of Snape's many nicknames, and one he particularly resents.

"Ms. Salmone, I'm convinced you _enjoy_ punishment," he remarked tightly, his dark eyes blazing, his handsome face hard and white as fine marble. "You _relish_ in it, don't you? I suppose I should pity you, but I can't muster enough sympathy."

"Oh, well, if _you're_ convinced then," Shawn replied sweetly, but her eyes -which are black, not unlike Snape's - were flashing with anger; no amount of ankle kicking could shut her up now. "_You've _never been known to be wrong; you_ are_ the professor."

I could distinctly hear a tiny gasp from the back of the room.

Snape looked white as paper, his entire frame taut with tension, but his face remained expressionless. "Twenty points," he whispered silkily. "Double detention."

"Double my pleasure-" Shawn retorted, and she looked like she was about to say more - I turned to my friend, my mouth hanging open, but before I could say anything, a voice rose unexpectedly from the back of the room.

"_-SHUT UP!" _

Everyone turned around to gape at Firuze Johnson, our year's Hermione wanna-be, whose quill had actually snapped in tension at having witnessed the exchange between my friend and Snape - and, no doubt, at having lost so many House points; she _hates_ Shawn, by the way.

"Just shut _up_, Salmone, PLEASE!_"_ she added desperately.

My mouth was still a perfect O of surprise; I couldn't believe what was happening; it was as if everyone had gone mad. When I twisted around in my chair again I found Shawn and Snape were oblivious to everything, still glaring at each other, and with such _passion_ that for a moment I felt embarrassed to be seeing them, as if I'd discovered them kissing, as odd as it sounds.

"Leave my class this instant," Snape hissed, his stygian eyes glittering with fury, fixed on Shawn as if she were the only other person on the planet. "Detention at seven o'clock tonight. I suggest you bring protective gloves. I hear Burkworst slime itches horribly and permanently discolors the skin."

Shawn kept an amused sneer on her lips while packing her things, but- fortunately- kept quiet. Class resumed when she left, and Snape didn't once so much as glance at me again.

**X**

Shawn was not to be found at dinner; Snape made it so that her detention clashed with dinnertime. That means _he_ can't eat, either. He really does hate her.

Anyway, I was feeling very glum about the whole thing, and not even the juicy bit of gossip that Parvati had finally dumped Ron could cheer me up.

I wasn't even cheered up by the fact that I caught Draco looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face during dessert. He was so lost in thought he didn't even notice I was looking back at him sadly. I'm sure he didn't notice because he kept looking at me, and it wasn't until a few seconds had passed that he finally looked away.

I won't deny my stomach did a somersault, but it made me kind of sad; my emotions are a rollercoaster of fun- _not_- these days. Anyway, before I could dwell on the meaning of Draco's look, _Cho Chang_ bounded up to me, her china doll face as hard as if it really were made of porcelain, and her eyes blazing.

"_Weasley_!" she barked, her black as coal eyes glittering strangely. "Don't forget our meeting with Snape and Dumbledore tomorrow. Hopefully your eventful social life won't keep you from your duties." This last part was added with such venom in her normally measured voice that even Harry turned bright green eyes on her curiously.

"Cho!" I exclaimed, my surprise at her obvious hostility making me forget to call her 'Chang'.

But she whirled around and stomped off, leaving me and everyone else nearby staring after her.

I'm _still _wondering what the hell that was all about.

I can only guess that she's angry about Draco and mine's supposed 'library encounter', but then Aiken and Draco have done worse, _much_ worse, right in front of her face, and she hasn't so much as batted an eye.

I don't get it.

**X**

Club time.

I've been literally counting the minutes since yesterday- the seconds, really- that lead to this moment.

Shawn and I are standing outside of the door to the Italian Club, and she watches with an expression halfway between amused and bored as I adjust my skirt and fiddle with the knot of my tie.

Satisfied, I turn to her.

"Ready?" I ask.

Shawn rolls her eyes around for all response - okay, I'm going to stop asking people that question. Seriously, though, am I really the only one who gets nervous when they're about to walk into a room?

I roll my eyes at her and reach for the doorknob, but hesitate after a moment, taking a deep breath.

Shawn mutters a very nasty swearword under her breath. "Outta the way!" she orders, and bursts the door open.

She's been in a horrible mood since her detention with Snape. We've been bickering like an old couple since yesterday. It's disconcerting, really. I don't know what's wrong with her, and I know there's plenty wrong with me.

I glare at her and make to walk in ahead of her, but the sight I encounter makes me freeze.

There are about ten people in the room, and Draco is standing not three feet away from me, talking to a Ravenclaw named Alton Brown.

'So what?' you say.

Well, I don't know. But my heart just stopped.

He looks beautiful, but then, that's nothing new. His hair is loose over his shoulders, and he's wearing his school uniform minus the robes. His pewter colored eyes flick to us and – after excusing himself from Alton - he walks over with a haughty little smirk on his face.

"_Benvenute,_" he says pompously.

Shawn barges right in from behind me and says,"_Io non voglio sentire questo cazo!_"which -as I understand it- roughly translates to "spare me the crap".

Then she grabs me by the hand and leads me away, but not before I catch the amused grin on Draco's expression, and not before his eyes meet mine.

He becomes serious then, but I have to look away because Shawn has yanked me by the arm.

"Weasley, get a life," she mutters, as she leads me to the 'kitchen station'. "He's been ignoring you for two days straight."

I turn to look at her incredulously- this from Shawn fucking Salmone, Seamus Finnigan's official doormat?

Shawn pretends not to notice I'm glaring at her and pauses next to the stove. Athena Krauss is standing there, stirring a steaming pot of wonderfully smelling tomato sauce.

She looks up from the pot, nods at Shawn –pauses to glare at _me_- and continues her work.

"Yeah, she hates you," Shawn proclaims confidently as she leads me away.

She's finally loosened her death grip on my wrist, and has now linked her arm through mine.

I guess she must have caught me looking around for Draco because the next thing out of her mouth is, _"He's prettier than youuuuu!"_ in a singsong voice.

I unhook our arms and turn to glare daggers at her. "Shawn, get a fucking grip! Snape isn't here, so stop being a bitch! And say that whole 'he's prettier than you' shit _one more time _and I swear-"

"Okay, okay, good grief!" she mutters.

I huff and turn my back on her; I'm seriously annoyed at Shawn- I know she's unhinged, and she's trying to take care of me, but seriously.

I'm scowling, mostly because what she's said is true, but now I've spotted Draco and instantly feel better. I want to go up to him and thank him for inviting my friend, but he's been such a dick lately, that I'm kind of scared he might brush me off.

The room has been slowly filling with people, and I nod to some club acquaintances - all non-Slytherins, of course; _they_ still can't stand me, save for Blaise and Draco.

Just then I see Dean Thomas talking animatedly to Selima Krauss, a Ravenclaw cousin of Athena's.

What is _Dean Thomas_, of all people, doing _here?_

To my increasing amazement, Seamus Finnigan bursts in through the door, glares at Draco -who sneers- and looks around the room, scanning over the many faces with obvious impatience.

I can pretty much guess who he's looking for, really.

Turning to my friend, I grab her wrist in a vise-like grip and draw her towards me.

"Seamus is here," I hiss, meeting Shawn's startled black eyes evenly. "Don't you _dare _screw this up by reverting to doormat mode, you hear? Treat Seamus like you're unimpressed –treat him like he's _Snape_- and I promise you'll be having babies named Finnigan within the next five years…"

Shawn's eyes widen, and then she nods solemnly. I can feel her hand trembling in mine, but she's got that look of determination I know well; she'll be fine.

"You're on your own now, kid," I tell her softly, and proceed to make myself scarce.

I move all the way to the other end of the room, hiding behind a group of Ravenclaws so I can spy unhindered.

I feel a burst of something like pride as Shawn holds her ground, fighting her impulse to run over to Seamus, like she would normally do. Her efforts pay off; soon the handsome blond Irishman walks over to her and taps her on the shoulder. Shawn turns to him and greets him less than effusively.

I'm sure Seamus is intrigued as hell, for she would normally beam at him as if he had the sun shining out of his ass; to her, he really does.

Anyway, as I watch, Seamus begins talking and Shawn feigns polite disinterest, somehow managing to keep the usual expression of fascination out of her face.

I'd say this is going very, very well.

And then, to my surprise, a certain criminally gorgeous Slytherin saunters up to them and speaks to Shawn -in Italian, I suspect- as if the male Gryffindor weren't even there.

Seamus' normally already reddish cheeks flush with badly concealed anger, his eyes on Shawn as she bursts out laughing at something the Slytherin Quidditch captain has said.

Draco and Shawn have a short, seemingly pleasant conversation -under the watchful glare of Seamus, who looks like steam is about to pour out of his ears any moment now.

After a minute or so the club president pats Shawn on the arm lightly, smiling winningly, and moves on to the next group of people.

He's ignored Seamus completely, I notice.

I grin widely as I watch the Irishman move closer to Shawn; I'm pretty sure he's going to be trying his damndest to make her laugh harder than she did for Draco just now. Normally it doesn't take much effort from him, but today I'm certain Seamus is going to be finding it unusually hard.

Suddenly I become aware that there's someone standing behind me. I tense a bit, for they're close enough for me to feel the warmth of their proximity, but not their touch.

Even before he speaks, I know it's Draco.

"I'd say it's going well," his deep voice murmurs in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I turn to find Draco standing behind me, in all his platinum blond splendor. Gods, sometimes it hurts to look at him.

I wish he would look at _me_- it's a silly wish, like seeing a fire and wanting to feel yourself burn in it- but his lead gray eyes are fixed on the two blond Gryffindors.

"Though why your friend would want to snag that Irish klutz is beyond me. I guess all you Gryffindors have questionable tastes," he adds haughtily, and then walks away.

**X**

**

* * *

  
**

**To be continued! **I've already got half of the next chapter written up, and I can tell you something very interesting will happen at the Italian Club. Stay tuned!

Anyway, I think Draco's reaction to the whole Paul thing is interesting- any thoughts? ;p


	10. Rivelazione

**Note:** This is a LONG chapter, the longest ever!

_Rivelazione:_ revelation. There are _several_ revelations, starting from the second part of this chapter and on. In fact, I count _at least_ EIGHT 'revelations', scattered around like Easter eggs. Let's see if you can find them! ;p

* * *

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Ten: "Rivelazione"**

_Ever the optimistic one I'm sure of  
Your ability  
To become  
my perfect enemy._

_Wake up,  
and face me.  
Don't play dead.  
Cause maybe,  
someday I will walk away and say  
you disappoint me  
Maybe you're better off this way._

_Leaning over you here,  
cold and catatonic,  
I catch a brief reflection  
of what you could and might have been.  
It's your RIGHT and your ability  
To become  
my perfect enemy._

_Wake up.  
(Why can't you?)_

_And face me.  
(Come on now)_

_Don't play dead.  
(Don't play dead)_

_'Cause maybe.  
(Because maybe)_

_Someday,  
(Someday)_

_I will walk away and say  
You fucking disappoint me  
Maybe you're better off this way…_

_Go ahead and play dead.  
(GO!)  
I know that you can hear this.  
(GO!)  
Go ahead and play dead.  
(GO!)_

_Why can't you turn and face me?  
(WAKE UP!)  
You fucking disappoint me._

_Passive-aggressive bullshit..._

--"Passive", by A Perfect Circle

**X**

At precisely four-thirty Draco commands everyone to gather around, gesturing elegantly towards the stools at the far end of the room.

We all hasten to grab a stool and sit in a wide semicircle, looking at him expectantly.

Blaise sits next to me, tugging at a strand of my loose hair to draw my attention as he does so.

I grin widely at him for two reasons: Cho Chang isn't here, and I'm still exhilarated by the thought of Draco wanting to do something nice - albeit devious and underhanded (namely scaring Seamus into dating Shawn) - for _my_ sake.

Blaise smirks haughtily in reply to my silly grin but I can tell that he was pleased, and I'm hoping I'm not sending him mixed messages…Blaise Zabini is the biggest flirt in all of Hogwarts, and although I'm convinced he knows I'm constantly drooling over Draco, I'm also convinced that he doesn't _care._

I don't think I've been flirting back with him.

Right?

Anyway, when I turn back to Draco I notice he's giving his best mate a curious look. He's removed his jumper and is standing in the center of the circle, rolling up the sleeves of his white oxford shirt and looking completely at ease with having all eyes on him, as per usual. His head is cocked to the side as his fingers work on his sleeves, his gray eyes on Blaise with a look I can't decipher.

After welcoming all new attendees, Draco announces that member introductions will continue in Italian, and invites anyone who didn't get the chance to speak last week to do so now.

I watch as Alton Brown begins his amusing introduction, eliciting laughter here and there and breaking the tension Draco has created - he _fascinates_ people, but he also scares them; not unlike Snape.

Once Alton is done he is followed by three Slytherins and a Hufflepuff third year named Gwendolyn, who blushes and giggles through her entire discourse, much to Draco's annoyance.

He's sitting at his own stool with his long legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest. His shoulders are hunched and he's wearing a "kill me - NOW" expression on his face as an oblivious Gwendolyn speaks of her love of "animals, especially kitties" and "flowers and candy", bursting into fresh giggles every five seconds.

Draco sighs heavily once she's done, covering his eyes with the tips of his beautiful fingers in an eloquent gesture that's delicate and weary and just… Draco-ish, I guess.

When he asks who would like to follow, no one moves and Draco turns to look _at me _very pointedly.

Right.

I stand as if I'm being levitated, and although all eyes have darted to me, I'm feeling only the weight of a pair of intense silver eyes on me. That, and the familiar tingle of nerves, excitement, and, oh- _sudden terror-_ that accompanies public speaking.

"Um… Ah…_ Mi chiamo_ _Ginny_," I begin, in my childish little voice. _"Ho quindici anni-"_

"I CAN'T _HEAR_ YOU!" someone_ –Athena_- calls out rudely, interrupting my flow of words, and I blush pathetically.

"Pipe down, Krauss! Everyone else can hear her fine," Draco snaps icily, not even bothering to turn to look at her, his gray eyes still burning into mine. _"Continua, per favore," _he says, nodding curtly.

I blush harder but nod back, and go through the rest of my speech sounding a bit more self-assured. I even get people to laugh – quite unintentionally, I assure you - when I talk about the things I like to do: eating, flying, _writing short stories…_

Some of the boys - the seventh years, especially - burst into vigorous applause at this last part and I blush harder, but manage to grin, rolling my eyes around. This is _one_ instance in which I've totally put my foot in my mouth and it's earned me applause.

Draco, I noticed, isn't laughing, but he's got an amused little smirk on his lips, his pewter colored eyes locked with mine. I keep speaking, all the while looking at him, and it's as if it's just the two of us.

I've practiced my Italian with an almost religious fervor, and I know my pronunciation is flawless. Draco's eyes go from my eyes to my lips and up to my eyes again, and he's got his head cocked slightly to the side, his signature smirk etched on his perfect lips; I can tell that he's enjoying listening to me, and it makes me feel warm all over.

When I finish my introduction and take a seat again - still trembling, but pleased - Blaise leans into me until his dark, exquisite face is only inches away from mine, and whispers, _"Brava, bambina."_

I turn to smile at him and he smirks as he adds, "And you can send me a copy of those stories of yours, if you write any more…"

Draco, who's standing at the center of the room again, frowns at Blaise pointedly and then at me.

"_Silenzio," _he commands haughtily, arching a delicate eyebrow.

Blaise's smirk broadens into a grin, and he shakes his head, looking distinctly amused.

Hmm…

Anyway, the introductions end with Aiken Dunn's inane and hesitant diatribe on why she likes traveling and playing Quidditch, all spouted in broken Italian – I guess she should have engaged her tongue into practicing her pronunciation instead of the indecorous things I'm sure she did with it during the week.

When she finally takes a seat, our club president thanks everyone for their efforts –without the slightest trace of irony, mind you - and announces that we're to have a book discussion next week.

"We're going to read _'Diaro Di Un Giovane Mago'_," he declares, and then turns to glare straight at Seamus. "That's 'Diary of a Young Wizard', _Finningan,"_ he drawls, saying Seamus' surname as if it were a particularly insulting adjective. "And if you intend to come back next week, you better start learning some Italian, _presto!" _He snaps his fingers demonstratively and Seamus flinches - and then blushes an angry red.

He glares back at Draco with all his might, but the platinum blond has already turned away.

"I've ordered you each a copy, which will be given you at the end of today's session," he informs us, looking around the room. "Be prepared to discuss that novel next week. I'm especially interested in comparing Italian youth to ours, so be sure to draw parallels and contrasts."

Draco gestures with his hands elegantly as he speaks, and he looks so comfortable that for a moment I wonder if he's forgotten we're all there. I half close my eyes, lulled by the lovely timber of his deep voice, but open them again because I don't want to miss the sight of him, the way the cheerful sunlight that floods the room seems to play white on his hair and golden on the skin of his exposed forearms. He's beautiful, he really is, and watching him sometimes causes me something like...pain.

"How are we different from them, how are we similar?" he continues, making those lovely hand motions to stress his words, palms up in the universal sign of entreaty.

_Understand me,_ his hands seem to be saying. _Work with me._

"What are their views on their own role in Italian society, their views on their own culture, on music, sex, drugs…" His intense silver eyes, narrowed in concentration, scan the faces of his audience rapidly as he continues to speak.

Blessed Cricket... If you think Draco's sexy when he's cooking, you should see him when he's being profound and intellectual, like right now.

I'm feeling myself grow hot and tingly, and when I look around I see that there are enrapt expressions on most of the faces of the girls present; even _Shawn's_ faking an intellectual orgasm for the benefit of Seamus, who's glaring at Draco as if he were trying to set him on fire with his mind.

"It's a short novel, something like 150 pages," Draco continues, walking around the small circle with that seductive grace of his, giving me a nice view of his gorgeous bum encased in the close-fitting trousers he wears. "So read it, and try to appear _marginally_ intelligent when we discuss it next week." He glares at Seamus again before turning away. "And now let's eat…"

Everyone stands eagerly at these words, and we all group around the kitchen station, where mouth-watering aromas waft out of piping hot pots and pans. An apron-clad Athena stands behind the counter and proceeds to cook today's dishes: spaghetti alla Bolognese, fresh baked bread and tiramisu.

I have to admit it: the twit looks like she knows exactly what she's doing, and it smells very, very good.

She keeps her intelligent, light brown eyes on Draco the whole time, leaning forward to give a better view of her ample cleavage as she beats eggs, tossing her beautiful dark curls over her shoulder as she explains what she's doing and why, and I'll tell you she's about as subtle as Hagrid trying to quietly sip soup up at the teacher's table in the Great Hall - you can hear him all the way in the Quidditch pitch.

From the way she's carrying on and making little sex noises - as if the act of stirring oregano into tomato sauce produced her actual _pleasure _- it's obvious Athena wants a piece of Draco, and it doesn't take a stretch of the imagination to figure out which one.

He takes it all in stride, watching her calmly with his arms folded over his chest. At one point - when she makes something that sounds suspiciously like a moan while crushing a head of garlic - Draco and I exchange amused glances.

I can't tell you how good I feels, what it's like to have Draco's clear gray eyes, sparkling with amusement, latch onto mine to share a quick grin with me. It's…almost like feeling the sun on your skin for the first time after a harsh winter.

So…um… yeah.

Once she's done cooking, the black-haired Slytherin begins serving her considerably large audience, pouring generous amounts of pasta onto the pile of plates next to her.

A line quickly forms, as is usually the case when free food is being given out, and I take the opportunity to quickly slip through the door; just in time too cause, if you must know, my bladder is about to burst.

I hurry to the nearest bathroom and take care of business, making sure not to get toilet paper caught on my shoes, or my skirt caught on my knickers or anything stupid like that; things are going surprisingly well with Draco, and the last thing I need is a Ginny moment.

Once I'm done I stand in front of the bathroom sink and wash my hands with the foamy, almond scented soap. Glancing at myself critically in the mirror, I decide I look good.

I run a hand through my loose hair, shaking it out to give it a bit of volume, pleased that the waist-length waves look silky - although not straight, and nowhere near curly. I also add some more gloss to my lips. It's sheer, so it doesn't really add color, just shine, but my lips are naturally red, anyway.

Satisfied, I walk out of the bathroom and down to the club room, letting myself in quietly.

The first thing I see is Draco leaning against the wall by the door, looking gorgeous, as per usual, and brooding silently. He looks up and his intense eyes fall on me, and he glares at me accusingly.

"Where _were _you?" he demands hotly, sounding remarkably like a housewife confronting a drunk, good-for-nothing husband, and I find myself blush guiltily.

Draco's face is contracted into a disapproving frown, and it's obvious he'd thought I'd left - _again._

"I was in the _bathroom,"_ I snap defensively, and although he continues glaring at me, his shoulders instantly relax. "Did you want to come with me?" I demand sarcastically.

Draco's face becomes expressionless and he draws back. He folds his arms over his chest, hip cocked to the side, and a mischievous glint lights his eyes as they burn into mine.

"_Come_ with you?" he repeats softly, his already deep voice dropping an octave into a sexy whisper. "Does it _always_ have to be about sex with you, girl?"

I blush horribly and glare at him, opening my mouth to reply.

"-And anyway," Draco says, cutting me off, "maybe I'll '_come with you'_ some other time…I have a club to run, you know," he murmurs silkily, his gray eyes on mine.

"Whatever, _Malfoy,_" I snap, doing an excellent job of concealing my elation and general… turned-on-ness.

"That's an impressive comeback," he observes dryly. "Remember we're meeting after this, for my 'infernal club publicity'. Now get in line, _Weasley,_ or you'll miss the food," Draco replies tersely as he walks away, and I realize he has a point; everyone around me seems to be eating spaghetti, and the waiting line has considerably shortened.

As I stand behind a seventh year Slytherin, it dawns on me that Draco has been doing some serious, hard-core flirting with me, and that he was actually upset when he thought I'd left.

Like the last time…

Suddenly I see the image of his beautiful face inches away from mine, and his eyes, Merlin, _the way_ he looked at me, that time we _almost_ kissed.

My heart soars, and I drift down the line - where I'm the last person left - as if floating over pink, fluffy clouds of bliss. I'm already trembling in anticipation of being alone with him after this meeting ends.

I'm brought back down to reality, however, when I come face to face with today's chef.

"Oh_, I'm sorry_. There's no more left," Athena informs me, sounding decidedly unapologetic, her standard-issue Slytherin smirk firmly in place. "You're too late, Weasley."

She gives me a smug little smile, tilting the large pot for me to confirm that it's empty.

I look from the pot to her and open my mouth to comment, but a deep, silky voice I know well cuts me off.

"-No more?" Draco inquires from behind me.

He saunters up to us and peers into the pot amusedly. "How embarrassing for you, Athena, really."

The dark-haired Slytherin looks up at him and has the grace to blush. "Draco, I'm sorry," she says quickly. "I didn't realize I was making so little pasta…"

Draco waves his hand in her face dismissively, missing her nose by mere inches. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, you hear? I'll take care of everything," he drawls condescendingly. "Weasley can share mine," he adds softly, scanning her stunned face with obvious pleasure at her reaction. "_Vieni,"_ he says to me, sparing me a quick glance before turning away.

Athena and I both gape as Draco walks over to his place, where two plates of pasta hover in mid-air over two empty stools.

"Draco,_ posso darle mia meta!"_ she protests quickly, following after the blond.

She said she can give me half of hers - she is _desperate!_

"Nonsense, love," Draco says sweetly - albeit mockingly - and gives her a dazzling smile, displaying his perfectly aligned white teeth. He refuses to speak to her in Italian, I've noticed.

"But, Draco-"

"It's my pleasure to help you," he snaps tightly, obviously having lost all patience. "Now _do_ slide over so that Weasley can sit next to me."

Athena's mouth hangs open, but a moment later she composes herself.

I tell you though, if looks could kill, I'd be keeling over right now; Athena gives me the nastiest glare you can imagine before grabbing her robes, which, I'm not surprised to observe, were lying on the stool next to Draco's. Flicking her wand at her still hovering plate, she stomps away, and her plate follows after her.

I turn to Draco to find he's seated at one of the stools, with a well-laden plate of spaghetti Bolognese hovering in front of him. I watch as he draws his wand and summons two forks. He picks them up from thin air and extends one to me with a flourish, his perfectly symmetrical face slightly tilted to the side and completely devoid of any expression.

I meet his eyes briefly, feeling wild tingles at the pit of my stomach, and reach out for the fork, my fingers curling around the cool metal and actually brushing his for a second before he lets go.

"_Grazie,"_ I say softly, biting my lips and looking at the fork fixedly, though I'm wishing I could look into his eyes.

Somehow I manage to gather the courage to look up at him again, and discover that Draco's intense eyes haven't left my face for an instant.

"_Prego,"_ he answers calmly in that deep beautiful voice of his, inclining his head slightly, his eyes still locked with mine.

After a moment, he gestures for me to have a seat on the empty stool on his right, and I do.

I clutch my fork tightly and sit down next to him, watching in silence as he switches the plate of food to his right hand, holding it in between us, more towards me.

Draco is left-handed, I've noticed, and he holds his fork in his left hand now. He makes an elegant, quick movement, wrapping spaghetti in a perfect little bundle around the end of his fork, and brings it to his lips.

_This is no time to be a klutz,_ I hear a little voice warn me, as I bring my fork to the strings of pasta.

I take a deep breath and try to imitate his movement, managing to scoop up a reasonable amount of spaghetti onto my own fork. I bring it to my mouth, and get most of it in, though some of it falls on my chin.

I quickly slurp it up and Draco pauses to look at me - and snickers.

I elbow him in the arm before I wipe at my chin, and he makes a dramatic show of almost dropping the plate of pasta all over me.

I roll my eyes around.

Now that I've finally managed to try Athena's food, I discover it's delicious. Honestly, though, I couldn't care less. I'm too aware of the fact that I'm eating off of Draco Malfoy's plate, sitting so close to him that our legs are pressed together, and I can smell him just as distinctly as the piping hot plate of pasta in between us.

A tray of freshly baked bread hovers to us, and Draco sets his fork on our plate to grab some - enough for _both_ of us, I notice. He sets the bread on the edge of the plate, and takes a bit, dipping it into the excess of red sauce.

I quickly hasten to do the same, feeling much like a child, learning by trying to imitate their parent.

Draco doesn't comment, but his lips curve into one of those delicious smirks of his.

"Athena is a good cook, yeah?" he says after a moment, grinning down at me evilly.

"Yeah," I agree, smiling.

Suddenly his eyes dart down to my lips, and his expression sobers. "Weasley, can't you even eat properly?" Draco murmurs, and then he lifts his hand to my face, and wipes a bit of sauce off my chin with his thumb.

Our eyes meet and I can't help but smile, trembling by the gentle familiarity of his gesture. He doesn't return my smile, but my heart is beating a million miles a minute as we continue to look at each other in silence.

What is that in his eyes?

Curiosity? Appraisal? I never can tell.

Just as suddenly, Draco looks away, wiping his hand on a napkin, and turns back to eating. A second later I do the same, but not without first noticing the jealous –and _murderous_- looks most girls are shooting me.

"Hey, thanks," I say suddenly, turning to look at the blond next to me. "For what you did for Shawn."

Draco smirks dismissively, giving a tiny shrug. "Yeah, whatever," he drawls, and flashes a dark grin. "I did it for the Irish klutz."

I accept this quietly, whatever _that_ means; it occurs to me that more than likely Draco views Shawn as some sort of Trojan horse. Either way, I'm disinclined to pry.

We eat mostly in silence, our forks dancing around the plate, and the strings of pasta and meat begin to disappear.

At some point my eyes meet Shawn's, and she looks from me to Draco, and gives me the thumbs up sign, that geek.

I beam but roll my eyes around, and she makes the peace sign - minus one finger.

I grin widely and my eyes flick to the blond and blue eyed Seamus, who's sitting next to Shawn. I give her a raised eyebrow and she responds by blushing, which is, you realize, a very un-Shawn thing to do.

**X**

By the time the club meeting ends Seamus is following my friend around like a lovesick puppy. They leave together, with Shawn turning to give me a maniacal grin before stepping through the door with her handsome young Irishman.

Draco gives a sinister chuckle as he watches them walk away, and I dig my elbow into his ribs.

"_Jerk!"_ I accuse, and then squeal when he turns to me and unceremoniously yanks at a strand of my hair.

"Ow! What are you, five?" I snap.

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he drawls snootily, and I grin, neither confirming nor denying.

He smirks knowingly, his gray eyes twinkling with humor, as he twiddles the strand of hair between his fingers.

We're completely alone now, like that first time I came to his club, only so much has happened since then - and yet, nothing, really, when you think about it. My heart is pounding so loudly now I fear he might hear it.

Draco looks at me in silence, and I look at him, noting the way his eyes go over every feature of my face as we stand side by side, leaning our backs against the kitchen counter. His eyes travel down my face and fall on my still smiling lips, and I feel myself tingle with excitement and anticipation.

"So," he says slowly, still looking at my mouth. His face is completely serious now, and he's let go of my strand of hair.

I can feel my heartbeat slow almost painfully, as if my heart, too, were holding its breath.

"…I was thinking we could do something really cliché, like…a map of Italy, a glass of wine, something like that. And the words 'Italian Club' in some bold lettering. Maybe 'Britannic Bold'…" he drifts off, looking past my shoulder. Then he looks at me again, and I stare at him dumbly.

"_What?"_ I manage to mumble.

"Yeah; you're right," he says, grimacing delicately. "It's so…_blah._ I guess we should think of other images for the backdrop, but I definitely want a list of the things we do here. I don't want all manner of oafs coming in here just because there's free food."

I'm staring at him blankly, forcing my mind to concentrate on all the rot he's saying. So we _are_ going to discuss infernal club publicity, after all. It's my _job_, really. But, well… I thought he was going to _snog_ me.

"Okay…" I begin hesitantly, trying to mask my disappointment. "That sounds good. I could talk to Colin at Designs and Graphics. We could come up with something by Sunday."

"Did you get a load of that Athena Krauss?" Draco says suddenly, walking over to one of the stools and sliding into it gracefully.

I'm so dejected I don't even notice the way his sculpted thighs are outlined by his form fitting trousers, or the way the material bunches at his crotch. Okay maybe I _do_ notice, a little.

"Yeah," I mumble again, still leaning against the kitchen counter.

"I was going to tell her that there were children here, I mean, really. She's got some nerve, that girl," Draco comments laughingly, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. "She doesn't get it."

I can think of at least one red-haired ditz who doesn't get it, either.

"Yeah," I say again. "She doesn't get it." I look up at him, and he's smirking, meeting my eyes like we're making some big joke.

"You're taken," I say quietly. "And you just don't like her…not really."

"Pardon, I'm _what?"_ Draco asks suddenly, arching his delicate eyebrows and leaning forward in obvious surprise.

"_Taken_," I repeat crossly, clenching my hands into fists without realizing I'm doing it.

"I _am?"_ he asks bemusedly, and then he folds his arms over his chest, looking genuinely interested. "Really? Who's the lucky girl?"

I look back at him incredulously, remembering Cho's bitchy assault at dinner yesterday. "But I thought you and Cho Chang…"

Draco stares at me blankly and for a moment his mouth actually drops open. _"Cho?"_ he says, and then he throws his head back_ and laughs. _

I stare at him dumbly, mute with shock.

"Cho Chang is _crazy!_" he proclaims genially, in between amused chuckles. "She's a control-freak, a manipulative control-freak, Weasley. I thought you knew that by now!"

"But- but-" I stutter, staring at him incredulously. "But you two are…I mean you're always…"

"We're _friends,_ Weasley," Draco replies, still smiling amusedly. "We tried that whole dating thing for a while and it didn't work. We're just too different, and there was no… No…" he pauses for a moment, obviously struggling to find a certain word.

His hands are palm up, the tips of his fingers pressed together in what for some reason I've come to see as a very "Italian" gesture.

Apparently he's given up, for he drops his hands on his thighs and looks up at me thoughtfully. "We just don't mesh well, Cho and I."

I wonder briefly if he's talking about sex, and decide I don't want to know.

"But we're still good friends," Draco goes on, sounding thoughtful. "We work as friends because when she gets too overbearing I can just tell her to go fuck herself. That didn't go over so well when we were dating. And she's a good friend, if you're a guy... If I were a girl, though, I'd probably hate her." He looks at me pointedly, and with obvious amusement.

I look back at him incredulously, letting the meaning of his words sink in. Now that I think about it, I've never seen Draco and Cho holding hands or kissing; no one has, for the longest time, but still-

"And what about Aiken Dunn?" I demand desperately, though I already know what the probable answer is.

Draco cocks his head to the side and looks at me with surprise again, his sharp, piercing eyes scanning mine before he answers. "Oh I'm _banging_ Aiken Dunn," he says casually, rising to his feet slowly, almost lazily, his eyes never leaving my face. "Because she asks so nicely…"

He's walking towards me now, and I find myself gripping the edge of the counter behind me desperately.

I'm so, so confused right now.

All this time I secretly thought the reason why Draco didn't make a move on me was that he was somehow involved with someone else, and here he is telling me he's perfectly and completely single. Instead of being happy, I'm feeling…upset?

"And because she's reasonably good looking, and I have my needs," he continues in a gentle voice, as if he were explaining "the birds and the bees" to a small child; I haven't even the presence of mind to snort.

"But she's madly in love with Blaise, of all people," Draco adds, walking towards me with that seductive grace of his, "and our little shags are just something we do to pass the time."

My heart feels like it's breaking in my chest, and I find I can't even look at Draco anymore. He's standing unnervingly close to me, cheerfully invading my personal space, as usual.

My eyes are fixed on the knot of his striped green tie.

"Why would she sleep with you if she's in love with Blaise?" I whisper softly, struggling to understand this sordid reality.

"Because, Weasley," Draco says matter-of-factly, "I'm some sort of sex genius_. Everyone_ wants to sleep with me, haven't you heard? Also, she's a slut. And also she thought she'd make Blaise jealous."

I scoff; I've had opportunity to see just how jealous Blaise is about the whole thing.

Draco can apparently guess the course of my thoughts, and he smiles coldly. "In fact he finds the whole thing amusing, Blaise does."

"I'm sure he does," I murmur, shaking my head.

"Blaise fancies you, you know," Draco says conversationally, his eyes on some point past my shoulder. "I told him to back off, that you were already spoken for." I can _hear_ the mockery in his voice.

"Oh _really?_" I retort, realizing that this conversation is making me angry. "And just who, pray tell, were you saving me for?"

"_Please,"_ Draco says sharply, raising his silver eyes to mine. "Don't act coy."

My heart stops for a moment, and I stare at him expectantly, my mouth tense. He's standing right in front of me, so, so close.

Is Draco going to admit it, finally? Is he going to admit that he likes me and wants me for himself?

He's looking at me calmly, his mouth twisted with what could be irony, or humor. When he finally speaks, what he says nearly makes me keel over.

"I've seen the way Finch-Fletchley looks at you; that boy has been pining over you for years."

"_Finch-Fletchley?"_ I demand, glaring at him, and he _laughs_.

I stare at him in amazement, wishing to stomp, to scream and shout, to snap my fingers in his face, to do something, _anything_, to let out this rage and frustration I feel. Instead I remain motionless, looking at him in silence and he looks right back.

"Well, certainly Finch-Fletchley isn't the _only_ one," Draco says softly, reaching for a strand of my hair. "I heard all about your upcoming date with the Keegan kid. Congratulations."

"What?" I blurt, staring at him incredulously. "What? I mean- how-"

Draco drops the strand of hair and rolls his eyes around. "I have my sources," he cuts in tersely, inspecting his nails while somehow managing to look masculine. "There are girls crying all over Ravenclaw Tower, and it's all anyone can talk about…You did well," he says sardonically, meeting my eyes. "I feel sorry for Blaise, though."

I feel as if something in me had broken.

Draco thinks I'm dating Paul, and instead of…_doing something,_ he's just given me his _blessing_ and is babbling about Blaise.

"Anyway, yeah, there you have it. I'm single and loving it," he finishes wryly. "Have I answered all of your questions or are you up for some more prying?" he asks softly, his intense eyes piercing mine mercilessly. "Because I wonder why you'd care."

"I _don't,"_ I retort, glaring at him.

For one moment I consider explaining to Draco that there's nothing going on between Paul and me but I'm so angry that I press my lips together tightly and say nothing.

"What's wrong, Weasley?" Draco inquires, and for some reason in this instance his use of my surname is like a slap in the face. "For a girl who's made off with the golden boy of Hogwarts you sure don't look too happy."

I lift my eyes up to Draco's face to find that he's looking back at me calmly, and his eyes don't hold the mockery I hear in his voice. The gray depths I can never look into without shivering appear flat and cheerless.

So all this time he was alone, and I was alone, and we could have been together, if he'd wanted me...

"You know what?" I say suddenly, my voice laced with bitterness. "I'm tired of all your crap." I side step him and stalk towards the door with my heart pounding in my ears.

The books he wants us to read for next week are stacked up neatly by the door, and there are only a few left. I glare at the pile and stand stock still next to it, my fists still clenched.

I can feel Draco's eyes on my back, and I'm thinking of telling him of my sudden, my _desperate _resolve to move on, to forget about him.

But that would be giving him something to gloat about, I decide. I opt for giving his neat pile of books a good kick, watching with satisfaction as the paperback copies of _"Diario Di Un Giovane Mago"_ fall all over the place - later this will make me want to crawl under a rock and die from shame, and part of me knows that, even now, but at the moment I can't say I care.

Draco's looking at me with an expression I don't catch as I stomp out of the club meeting room, slamming the door behind me.

**X**

I leave the room in a zombie-like state, ambling around the corridors without really seeing anything or anyone I encounter. It's like walking around in a shadow world where the only thing that is real is the numbness I feel.

I don't really know what to do with myself, and Shawn is nowhere to be found - I assume she'll be snogging Seamus, so I don't really look hard.

After some aimless wandering I find myself at the pitch.

The night air is cold against my skin, whipping my hair about my head none too gently, but I welcome it. I kick off the ground and rise rapidly on my broom, which I'd left in my locker in anticipation for tomorrow's match.

My pleated skirt lashes about my thighs, but there is no one there to catch the indecent sight of my polka-dotted knickers, nor would I have really cared if there had been.

The numbness has given way to pain, now. My heart feels as if it's been slashed into little pieces, and I know that if I give things too much thought, I'll end up crying like a little kid.

With that in mind I lock up everything away in a little box - a method of evasion I haven't had cause to use since my second year at Hogwarts - and resolve to think about something else.

Better yet, I decide to _not_ think, concentrating instead on my flying, on the spins and loops I do so well, finally working on the more intricate moves of "The Weasley Shuffle", a feint the twins and I invented last summer.

By the time I touch down my head is a little clearer, and I feel ready to go to that meeting with Dumbledore and Snape.

Instead of going down to dinner I stop by my dorm to take a quick shower and grab my notes, and then head down to meet Cho. We meet in the corridor outside of the Headmaster's office a few minutes before the meeting's projected time, saying nothing to each other; she glared at me coldly when I arrived, and I glared right back.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she is probably one of the "sobbing girls of Ravenclaw", or whatever, that Draco mentioned earlier.

In a stunning turn of events, Cho Chang is jealous of _me_. Not because of Draco, as I had originally thought, but because of _Paul_.

My "Cho On Fire" doodle is funnier now, in a sad, pathetic, ironic sort of way - especially because there might be a "Ginny On Fire" doodle in_ her _Arithmancy notebook.

Still, I'm too caught up in my own personal tragedy to have any patience for hers, and I don't feel like explaining that Paul and I are going on a not-date date tomorrow. So we remain silent as we stand side by side in the hallway waiting for Snape, both wearing identical "don't fuck with me" expressions.

When he rounds the corner, his robes billowing softly to an invisible wind, Snape's dark, hawk-like eyes go from Cho to me.

"Chang," he greets curtly, before turning to me. "Ms. Weasley _sans_ Salmone," he observes dryly, his sensuous lips curved into a sneer. "Is the crazy-glue finally wearing off?"

_Good grief!_ part of me notes in detached bewilderment_. He is totally obsessed with Shawn!_

It's a dazzling, bizarre realization, but I find I don't really care at the moment. I ignore him and his greeting entirely, and he looks at me curiously as we walk to Dumbledore's office.

The meeting goes by quickly, thanks largely to Snape; Dumbledore looked like he was up for a nice chat, but my handsome Potions Master was his usual dry, cutting, _bitchy_ self, and we made short order of the issues that needed discussing.

In the end, we came to this:

Cho and I will produce a copy of the first issue of the newspaper on Tuesday and they will give it the once over. If all is well, we'll go to printing and have a launching party on Thursday afternoon. From then on we'll deliver a new issue of the newspaper every Thursday.

Fair enough.

Cho and I leave the meeting without once having spoken to each other, and though I'm certain our mutual hostility showed, I'm glad to say we managed to look efficient and _somewhat _professional.

**X**

I didn't sleep much last night, but somehow I feel fresh today, pumped for my match, which is in a couple of hours.

I suit up in my Quidditch uniform, taking pleasure in doing so - it's a privilege, after years of having to keep my love of Quidditch carefully hidden from my hysterical mother.

Once I've put on the white pants, combat boots and red and gold robes, I head out to breakfast, leaving a still sleeping Shawn behind.

In the common room I encounter Ron and Harry, dressed in the same white, red and gold uniform as me, sitting with Hermione – whose face is buried in a book - and discussing strategy.

"Hey, Gin," Hermione says, not looking up from her copy of _'Goriest Female Literature of the Sixteenth Century'_.

"I want you to take care of Lane," Harry lovingly greets me, repeating for only the zillionth time his wish that I take Karen Lane - our reserve Chaser standing in for Demelza Robbins - under my wing.

"Yes, Harry," I recite, trying hard not to roll my eyes around. "_Hello_, Ronald," I say pointedly, turning to my brother, and he grunts for all response.

I plop down next to him, sinking into the soft cushions of our scandalously red couch, and rest my head against the backrest. My eyes slide from one member of the Trio to the next, finally settling on the redheaded one next to me. He's listening to Harry and sitting with his arms crossed, wearing a horrible scowl on his freckled - and admittedly handsome - face.

Ron and I haven't done much talking lately, and as I observe him covertly now, I go over what I've gathered regarding the dismal state of his love life.

Well, 'gathered' is one way of putting it; more like these details were dumped on me by a gloating blonde.

See, Shawn had detention last night - she wasn't off snogging Seamus, as I had originally thought; although there _was_ some of that, too.

Anyway, she had to de-slime Borkwursts in the company of one Parvati Patil, who had also been assigned detention by our irascible Potions Master - that day I saw her crying, remember?

So Parvati, never one to disdain an audience - and seeing as Shawn couldn't really go anywhere - simply leapt at the chance to tearfully recount the story of how she had dumped Ron, and how hurt she was at his lack of reaction after the fact.

Apparently Parvati's intention was not to end relations with my brother, but rather to scare him into commitment. With a fool-proof plan like _that_ I'm surprised Ron reacted in exactly the opposite way of how she wanted; he actually agreed that they should break up, as the whole thing left him "feeling empty". (Wow.)

Anyway, Parvati was in Potions venting to her B.F.F, one Lavender Brown, when 'that greasy, hook-nosed old bastard'- and here I'm not sure if these are Parvati's actual words or Shawn's, but I suspect it's the latter - where was I? Oh yeah, the greasy old bastard snuck up behind them and loudly said something like, "While the tragic details of yours and Mr. Weasley's failed love life are no doubt riveting, Ms. Patil…yadda yadda yadda."

The Slytherins all burst into laughter and - get this - Parvati, apparently still mad with grief, accused Snape of being "insensitive" and "cold-hearted". Definitely _not_ a good move.

Now, I'm sure Snape has been called much, much worse in his lifetime, but for some reason he _snapped_. Maybe it was the red and gold of Parvati's tie, or the look of defiance in her eyes that reminded him of a certain blonde Gryffindor fifth year, but something about Parvati's statement made Snape lose it. He reportedly turned white as paper (not a stretch, really, for him) and he said - and here's the incredible part - he said that _Salmone's_ "vile and insufferable insolence" was apparently contagious, and slapped Parvati with double detention.

Merlin's balls. He really_ is_ obsessed with Shawn.

And you should see how _happy_ Shawn was when she told me all of this. She actually seemed happier telling me about Snape's mentioning her in another Potions class than she did when she was dishing out the minutiae of Seamus' linguistic abilities. Gah.

And Snape can't seem to stop bringing her up.

I think… that they _love_ each other!

Wait until I share that thought with Shawn! Heh heh heh.

I'll have to be at a safe distance, of course, and wearing good, comfortable running shoes. Perhaps I ought to be on my broom, just be safe.

Anyway, yeah, the point is this: little does Parvati know that while Ron may not have visibly reacted to her silly Witch Weekly inspired ultimatum, he really was shaken up by the whole thing, which explains why he is now acting like a moody, menopausal Molly Weasley trapped in the body of a sixteen year old boy.

"I'm hungry," he states now, his brow furrowed as it has been during the past seventy-two hours.

"I am too," I announce, standing. Then I look down at my brother, whose head is cradled in his hands. "Why don't you just talk to her?" I blurt.

Ron's head snaps up and he stares at me with obvious surprise, as do the remaining 2/3 of the Dream Team.

My brother stands as well, easily towering over me, and scowls. "What are you _talking _about?" he demands.

"Nothing," I sniff, shrugging. "Just that Parvati Patil thinks you don't care, and it's obvious you _do_, so just _talk _to her."

Ron presses his lips tightly as he glares at me, and then barges out through the portrait.

Hermione gives me an approving nod, and although Harry doesn't look at me, I know he agrees.

We all make our way down to breakfast where we meet up with Luna, who sits with us at the Gryffindor table as she usually does on weekends.

"Ginny, you and Paul Keegan are dating," she says, fixing her murky blue eyes on mine.

I'm not sure if it's a question or a statement, but then again, I'm not sure about a lot of things, with Luna.

"I heard you two caused quite a commotion at the Book Club," she continues, bringing a grape to her pink lips.

'Quite a commotion'? Those Ravenclaws are one catty bunch.

"Then our plan_ worked,"_ I snap dryly, slapping butter on my toast. "We were aiming for 'a riot', but 'a commotion' is not half bad."

"I'm sure there's still chance for a riot," Luna replies seriously, and I snort.

Once we're done eating breakfast we walk out of the Great Hall and towards the pitch in amenable silence, with Harry and Luna holding hands up front, Hermione and I walking side by side, and Ron sulking behind us.

"Oh darn it!" Hermione exclaims all of a sudden. "I forgot my thick cloak! It's cold out there… I'll go get it, you guys go ahead!"

She turns and runs back to the tower, with her long golden brown hair flying behind her, and the rest of us continue on our way down the corridor.

Just when we're about to reach the exit, we come across an interesting sight: two kids, one blond, one brown haired, taunting another boy, and judging by their height I'd say they're first or second years at most. And by 'taunting' I mean holding the third kid upside down in mid-air. From his terrified expression I can tell he's a Hufflepuff, the poor thing.

"What's going on?" Harry demands, his broad shoulders instantly tensing as he surveys the scene.

_Super Potter to the rescue!_ I think dryly, though I would do and say exactly the same thing - and probably sound just as obnoxious, too - if Harry weren't here to take care of it.

"None of your _fucking_ business!" says the blond kid, his wand trained on his still hovering victim. I don't know his name, but I'm certain he's a Slytherin.

At the thought of something Draco-related, however vaguely, a stab of pain goes through me. I wasn't expecting that, to be honest, but there it is.

"Leave that kid alone," Harry demands, letting go of Luna's hand and patting himself for his wand.

Ron rolls his eyes around but says nothing, nor does he make a single move to intervene.

"Put him down this instant!" Harry continues, reaching into his pocket. "Hey kid, I'm _talking_ to you!"

"This is none of your business, Pot-Head!" the other kid shrieks, borrowing one of Draco's classic nicknames for Harry. "Get fucked and get lost!"

I snort appreciatively.

This guy's a real wordsmith. Also, these are the two most dirty-mouthed kids I've seen since…well, since _I_ was that age.

Harry turns to glare at me and I look back at him and shrug. I reach for my wand and prepare to _Liberacorpus_ the poor upside-down kid when I notice that one of the Slytherin's face has broken into a smug grin, his eyes fixed on something behind us.

As I follow the direction he's looking in, my heart freezes over and I hold back a gasp.

Approaching us is a group of sixth year Slytherins, led by none other than Draco Malfoy. His silvery blond hair is combed away from his face, and his lips quirk into an amused smirk as his pale eyes take in the scene before him.

His hand is resting over his left hip, where his wand lies securely under the band of his well fitting jeans. Flanking him on either side are Crabbe and Goyle, and coming up behind them is Theodore Nott.

"Put that kid down," he commands calmly, and his housemates hasten to oblige. "What's going on?" Draco inquires, looking from the kids to us with interest. His eyes flick over me briefly, but don't linger.

Once the victim is lowered he doesn't hang around to see what happens next - he runs off like he's being chased by a band of wild Hippogriffs, and his two tormentors glance after him wistfully before turning to Draco again.

"Harry fucking Potter," one of them begins accusingly, looking up at Draco and pointing at Harry, "thinks he can tell us what to do."

Draco exchanges an amused glance with Nott before turning back to the kid. "Indeed. Well, you sure showed him. Now run along, and if I catch you _Levicorpus_-ing helpless kids again you'll wish you'd never learned that spell."

The kids gawk at Draco - who glowers menacingly for effect - and then break into a run in the direction of the dungeons.

This is all very cute, and in spite of the chills that have overtaken my body at the sight of Draco, I find myself wanting to smile dumbly. Suddenly, and before I can embarrass myself, unenthusiastic applause breaks out from behind me.

_Clap, clap, clap._

I turn, only to discover _Ron_ standing there, an amused, ironic grin on his face, as his hands continue to give sarcastic applause.

"That was quite a performance, Malfoy," he drawls, folding his arms over his broad chest.

I gape.

I've _never_ seen my brother being sarcastic during an argument. Usually he's too angry to be clever, but I think he's past the point of caring now.

"You've got the whole 'reformed Death Eater' act polished quite well," he continues, his bright blue eyes fixed on Draco. "I was getting all choked up, Uncle Draco."

Draco looks actually surprised for a moment, and then his gray eyes flash dangerously, and it's like watching light bounce of a steel blade. His lips curve into an amused smile, however, and nothing else gives away how angry he must be.

"What's going on?" Hermione inquires from behind me. I turn to see her wrapped up in a heavy cloak, trying to hide her thick book - which was probably the real reason why she went back to the tower - but before I can answer, Draco's voice cuts in.

"Why hello. I didn't see you there, Weasel," he says to Ron, his eyes burning with quiet rage. "I see the whole gang is here; the ambiguously gay duo and their band of oblivious female tag-alongs." With that one remark Draco has single-handedly insulted five people - including me - in one fell swoop.

Nott laughs loudly, and even Crabbe and Goyle manage to guffaw opportunely - after six years it seems they finally got their comedic timing right.

Ron opens his mouth to retort, but it is _Lun_a who challenges Draco.

"Malfoy!" she exclaims suddenly, and all of us – including Harry - turn to her in shock. "There's nothing wrong with being gay!"

She glares at Draco with flashing, bright blue eyes, and although she hasn't raised her voice, this is the first time any of us have seen such a vehement show of displeasure from her.

Even the prince of Slytherin looks surprised for a moment before replying. "Right you are, love," Draco says gallantly – and quite condescendingly, I might add - as he inclines his head in the direction of Luna. "There is _nothing _wrong with being a homosexual. In fact, I find Potter and Weasel's tentative displays quite heartwarming. Far be it from _me_ to shun them in _any_ way…"

"Yes, the girl is right!" Nott declares gravely, and it's obvious he's trying to hard to keep a straight face. "I myself am a front door man, but there's really nothing wrong with getting a little back door ac-"

"That's enough!" Harry snaps. "Let's go, guys." He starts walking away, grabbing Luna by the hand, and Hermione follows after them, not without giving the Slytherins a disapproving glare.

But Ron doesn't budge, his blue eyes fixed on Draco. "You don't fool _me_, Malfoy. I know you're still the same Death Eater wanna-be little shit you always were," he whispers. "I'll never forget who you were, and who you really are," my brother adds, ignoring the twin holes my eyes are burning into the side of his head. "And I know plenty of people who won't, either."

Draco smiles pleasantly, as if Ron had just complimented him on the color of his shirt, but his already pale face has drained of all color, and his eyes seem to have darkened to the color of slate.

I know how _angry_ he must be right now.

"Ron, shut up!" I hiss, grabbing my brother by the arm.

I'm burning with anger myself, to be honest.

It's not fair to Draco - or to _any _of the Slytherins - that any stupid oaf can just waltz up to him and say these things, just because of something his father did.

"Ron! Come on," Harry calls from the end of the hallway.

But Ron's eyes are on the Slytherin standing across from us.

I notice that Nott has put his hand on Draco's shoulder, as if restraining him - although the he is eerily still.

"Draco-" Nott begins, but the blond ignores him.

"You're right. You're just too damn clever for me, I guess," the Slytherin drawls quietly, as I try in vain to drag my brother away. "I wouldn't dream of fooling the likes of _you_ and your... _impressive_ intellect, Weasley," Draco continues softly.

My brother is blushing beet red now - trust Draco Malfoy to have discovered Ron's biggest, most carefully hidden insecurity.

"A mental giant such as yourself…" he continues, giving Ron a sardonic smile. "Really, what was I thinking?"

"Malfoy-" he begins.

"-Ron, SHUT UP!" I half command, half plead, all the while yanking him away.

"Ron," Harry says again, this time standing behind us, "let's just go."

My brother glares at Draco again, but he closes his mouth and begins to walk after Harry, with my hand still in the crook of his arm.

"Yeah, go ahead, you big pussy," Nott calls after us, while still holding on to Draco's shoulder. "Go with your sister, you stupid ketchup head! You'll keep walking if you know what's good for you, you little _bitch!"_

Fortunately Ron doesn't react to these sophisticated barbs, and we walk away with some dignity.

I want to look back at Draco, but I don't dare to. I duck my head and follow my brother, though I feel the intensity of a pair of gray eyes on me as I walk away.

"What's gotten into you?" I hiss at Ron once we're out of hearing distance. We both continue to walk rapidly, glaring at each other but with our arms still linked. "You have no right to say those things to him, Ronald!"

We're outside now, walking hurriedly towards the pitch, and the wind stings at my cheeks, which are already burning red anyway.

"Stop defending that stupid jerk!" Ron growls angrily, and I stop walking, realizing we're standing very close to Harry, Hermione and Luna. I'm not particularly anxious to be overheard by them, and apparently neither is Ron.

"Stop defending that slimy Death Eater git, Ginny!" he repeats in a hushed whisper, glaring down at me with blazing eyes. "It's so _pathetic."_

"He's _not_ a Death Eater, you _wanker_, and I'm not defending him!" I snarl, ticked that Ron, of all people, would consider _me_ pathetic. "I'm saying that you're just as big of a jerk as he is, if not worse! Just who the fuck do you think _you_ are, that you can judge and condemn people when you don't know shit about them? You have no right!"

"And I suppose _you_ know? I suppose you think _you_ know him, is that right?" Ron demands, his face once again matching the color of his hair. "Everyone in this school knows Malfoy's just trying to get into your pants, so whatever he told you-"

"No he's NOT!" I explode, tearing my arm free of his. "He's _not_ trying to get into my pants!"

"Stop _defending_ him!" Ron bellows, all but stomping his foot in rage. "_Listen_ to yourself!"

"I am NOT DEFENDING HIM!" I scream, gesturing wildly with my arms. "I am telling you that he's not trying to get into my pants! If he wanted to…" I trail off, feeling myself burn with shame at the words I'm about to say. "If he would have wanted me," I whisper quietly, more to myself than to Ron, "he would have had me a long time ago. Do you understand, you big baboon?"

Ron's mouth snaps shut, and he stares at me incredulously. He's shaking his head from side to side now, as if this were some sort of clever defense against reality.

"He doesn't _want_ me," I whisper hoarsely, and my voice trembles with emotion as something hot and wet falls on my cheek. "He's not _interested_ in me, he doesn't _care…_"

I wipe at my eyes and glare up at Ron again, trying not to sniffle.

"But it doesn't matter," I snap, ignoring the curious way my brother is looking at me. "He doesn't deserve what you did. Draco's nothing _like_ his father. He's not a bad person, and he's trying to change, he's trying so _hard_. And then some idiot –YOU, you big _dork _- comes along, and humiliates him in front of everyone for doing the right thing. How can you be so-"

"-_Oh my God,"_ Ron cuts in softly, looking at me through with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Ginny…You're in love with that asshole, aren't you?"

My eyes widen and my mouth snaps shut.

His words, more of an accusation than a real question, slowly sink in, and I realize I must be staring at my brother with the same disbelieving, stunned look he's giving me.

But I don't answer.

I can't.

* * *

**X**

That was a LONG chapter! I hope you liked it!

A lot of you said in your reviews that Draco's behavior is confusing. Are you MORE confused now? Hehehehe.

I know I promised this chapter would cover the Paul/Ginny not-date date, but, well…I lied. ;p

The next chapter WILL cover the date, which should be fun, AND, since most of you are demanding some form of non-dream D/G action, I will TRY to comply with your request in the next installment. ;D

I love to be obnoxious and capitalize words at random. Can you tell?

There are two, maybe three chapters left, by the way. We're getting there!

Please review! Keep the feedback coming! ^_^

If you have any theories as to what is going on, I would love to hear them! ;D


	11. Bacio

Hey guys! Thanks for the feedback! I have to say, though, it's been drastically dwindling. :(  
Hopefully this chapter will get a reaction from you, the ones who have forsaken me! Those who remain faithful....you guys rock. :D

Several notes before we start:

This chapter is dedicated to **NARMADA**: thanks for all of your support! It really means a lot. ^_^ I hope you like it!

1-My birthday is coming up (next Monday) and I've requested a Ginny/Lucius fic as a present! Already two fics have been written, and they're quite good; check those out! Thanks to **neina-7** and **WishfulWhispers** for their lovely gifts: Luscious Lucius fics! Yay! My "Most Delicious Daddy" complex *looks pointedly at scubarang* has been satisfied. ;D

2-The winners of the "Ginny Draws Draco Challenge" have been chosen and will be announced shortly, once we get through two tie-breakers. Visit the forum for more details. :D

3-There's an on-going discussion at the forum as to what Draco should look like. (Visit my profile for the link).

In light of that, I've temporarily changed my profile avatar from my usual Botticelli Venus to an image of what _my _Veela-licious!Draco looks like (need I tell you he has long hair??).  
Check it out! It's Bjorn Andressen at 16, the boy who played the beautiful Tadzio in the movie version of Thomas Mann's "Death in Venice". ^_^

4-Finally, _Bacio:_ means kiss. There are THREE kisses in this chapter, to make up for the total lack of kissing up to this point! Enjoy! :D

* * *

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Eleven: "Bacio"**

_Never thought you'd make me perspire  
never thought I'd do you the same.  
Never thought I'd fill with desire,  
never thought I'd feel so ashamed._

_Me, and the dragon  
can chase all the pain  
away…_

_So before I end my day  
remember_

_My sweet prince.  
You are the one._

_Never thought I'd get any higher  
never thought you'd fuck with my brain.  
Never thought all this could expire,  
never thought you'd go break the chain._

_Me, and you baby  
used to fuck all the pain away  
So before I end my day…_

_Remember._

_My sweet prince, you are the one._

_My sweet prince, you are_

_The one._

--"My Sweet Prince", by Placebo

**X**

I won't bore you with details of how the game went. Just know that we won. If we hadn't, we'd be in serious trouble. Hufflepuff has a hell of a Keeper in Christina Roh- probably the best at school, though I would never admit this in front of Ron.

But still, it's _Hufflepuff_, and man for man they can't measure up to Ravenclaw- let alone Slytherin. Seeing as this is only our second game of the season, we had to win convincingly, and we did.

The only note-worthy thing that happened during the game was that at one point a raucous chant of_ "Weasley, Weasley!" _broke out from the Ravenclaw portion of the stands, led by none other than Paul Keegan. He was joined by a bunch of seventh years, including a grinning Aidan Knight, and soon the chant spread all over the stadium.

I blushed horribly, mostly because I had spotted a magnificent head of platinum blond hair somewhere below. Fortunately I was flying high enough that my blush went unnoticed, even when the stupid commentator, a sixth year Hufflepuff named Wendell Smith, sighed heavily into his microphone and said "Ah, young love…"

Hufflepuff wanker.

Anyway, when the game ended I saw Ron, looking sweaty and rugged with the sun shining bright in his hair, walk up to a trembling Parvati Patil with a rather decisive strut.

Good for them, seriously, because I don't think I'm prepared to handle much more of Ron at his bitchiest.

As I watched Ron I let Harry gather me into his arms in one of those effusive hugs he only gives me when we've won at Quidditch -or when we've come out unscathed from a battle with Death Eaters.

Then my personal cheerleader, Paul, pulled me into a big bear hug, lifting my feet off the ground as he wrapped his arms around me. He was dressed in jeans and a black sweater, with his black hair casually mussed in a very disheveled and becoming way that I'm sure took lots of time- and lots of gel- to achieve. He whispered "Congratulations," into my ear in a rather breathy way that made the hair at the back of my neck stand on end.

I thanked him and let him kiss my hand, feeling once again like a magnet for other people's eyes. After agreeing to meet with him in a half an hour I walked off the pitch, trying to appear gracious as I accepted congratulations and claps on the back- the Weasley Shuffle _never _fails.

Once I made it to my dorm I showered and changed into a pair of fashionably tattered jeans and a turtle-neck, donning on a pair of navy blue ballerina slippers over pale pink socks instead of my usual tattered Converse high tops. Paul and I had agreed to meet outside of the Great Hall, so after pulling my hair into a half-ponytail that reminded me of Draco, I hurried downstairs to meet him.

I'm here now, waiting for him now, standing around in the corridor and trying not to look like an idiot. Where the hell is he, anyway?

"Hey Gin," a male voice suddenly breathes in my ear. It's pleasant enough, but not as deep as Draco's.

I turn around to find Paul looking handsome as ever, but, let's face it: he's nowhere near as beautiful as Draco.

He pecks my cheek lightly and smiles, and I find myself smiling back. He's moving awfully fast with the hugging and the kissing- this _is _our first date, after all, but I find I'm not uncomfortable, odd as it seems. He's got an easy sort of charm, not unlike Draco.

Ugh, I don't want to compare them…I've _been_ comparing them, haven't I?

Arrrgggh!

I can't stop thinking about that stupid blond wanker!

"You did great," Paul says, his blue eyes going over me with genuine admiration.

"Thanks," I say, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.

"Ready to go?" he inquires, offering me his arm, and I accept it.

"You smell great, Gin," he says softly, breathing deeply into my hair. "Is that strawberries and cream?"

"Yeah," I say, and for some reason I blush. "Thanks. It's shampoo and a body spritz…I _always_ smell like this. I guess you noticed now cause you thought I'd smell like I've been playing Quidditch-" I babble, and then blush an even deeper red when I realize I am.

Paul laughs. "Yeah, you're probably right," he comments, looking at me with twinkling blue eyes. "I like it, though. It smells great and it… fits you, I guess."

I smile at him as we step out into the chilly afternoon, meeting other couples and groups of people along the way. Everyone looks at us with obvious curiosity, and I'm reminded of my library excursion with Draco.

But I'm not going to think about Draco anymore.

Our walk to Hogsmeade is nice. Paul is very easy to talk to, really, kind of like Dra-…kind of like _Bill._ My brother Bill, is what I was going to say. Yes.

We go into Rosmerta's straight off the bat, and slip into a nice booth by one of the windows.

"I'm so glad you didn't want to go to Madam Puddifoot's!" Paul confesses, sounding genuinely relieved. "I hate it there. I mean, I would've gone, if you'd wanted to, but…"

"Yeah, it _sucks_ there!" I agree, grimacing as I remember my dates there with Michael Corner. "With all the pink, and the bows and the frills and the incense. It feels so _contrived_… kind of like taking part in some weird… _mating_ ritual. It would be funny -as in _ha ha_ funny- except they're so uptight it's just annoying. They take themselves so seriously! It's ridiculous! I _hate_ them!"

Paul raises his eyebrows in surprise and it dawns on me that I'm babbling again. And not only that; also my hands are clenched into fists.

I quickly unclench them and resist the urge to cover my face in shame. Merlin's balls! I really am a dating disaster; except… Paul's grinning. In fact, he looks _thrilled._

"I _really _like you, Ginny," he says suddenly, like a child making a spontaneous confession. "Really, I don't think I've ever met a girl like you before."

It's my turn to raise my eyebrows in surprise now, both at his words and his candor. "Nobody's ever been so nice about saying I'm _odd_, Paul," I sniff.

His eyes widen and he looks stricken, but then I stick my tongue out at him and his face breaks into a smile.

"Little _witch!"_ he accuses laughingly, "I thought you were really offended for a second!"

I grin and he laughs again. "No really, you're great, Gin…You really are."

"Thanks," I murmur, and smile back at him over the rim of my menu.

But he's serious now, and something about the way he's looking at me makes me blush.

"I'm sorry…I don't want you to be offended or anything," he says, drawing closer, "But there's something I've been dying to do for the longest time…"

"What it is?" I ask stupidly, even as his face presses up against mine.

I'd heard seventh years were more forward than others guys; I've never dated anyone older than fifth year…But still... Wow.

I close my eyes on reflex as his lips close over mine, and I have to admit it feels really, really nice. It's been a long time since anyone's kissed me, and Paul's lips are warm and soft, and they mold to mine just so.

I'm not even thinking about Draco right now, about how different his fuller lips would feel. Okay, maybe I am. But I'm also thinking I'd forgotten how nice kissing feels. Just when I find myself starting to participate, Paul draws away.

"Rosmerta's glaring at us," he whispers in my ear, grinning widely.

I grin too and turn to confirm this, but my eyes never make it to Rosmerta. Instead they fall on the tall, lean Quidditch toned figure I've been thinking about all along, and my smile freezes on my face.

"Is everything okay?" Paul asks, and begins to turn in the direction of my blank stare.

"_Yes!_ Yes it is!" I hasten to reply, slamming my menu down on the wooden table. "It's just that… _I'm hungry!_ I'm always so hungry after games…can we order some curly fries?"

"Um… Sure," Paul says, looking at me curiously. "Fries it is. How about some butterbeers?"

"Sounds great!" I say, smiling vacantly as Paul tries to get the attention of the innkeeper.

My heart rate has accelerated wildly and I'm fighting a battle against my own eyes, which are desperately trying to dart back to Draco. I'm putting up a brave fight- but after a couple of seconds I look towards him again, almost against my will. In one swift movement my eyes sweep over him, taking in every detail about him like a starving man looks longingly on a piece of bread, a dying plant absorbs water, or a feeble Bird-Man the sun's ray…Yeah, you get the point.

"I think we'll have to wait a bit," Paul murmurs. "Rosmerta looks busy flirting, for a change."

Draco's wearing a black jacket over a pair of black baggy corduroy pants, which ride low on his slender hips, held in place by a belt lined with small metal spikes. Also, he's wearing a pair of classic Chuck Taylors. Sigh.

His silvery blond hair is loose, contrasting beautifully with the dark material of his jacket. Some pale tendrils line his razor sharp cheek.

I notice he's sitting at a booth with Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle, like in the old days.

Draco's sitting with his arm thrown around Pansy, his head leaning against the backrest of the booth, apparently lost in thought, as is often the case with him, but now he looks more bored than anything else. Pansy's reading off the menu, and consulting him about something, but he doesn't appear the least bit interested.

I should point out that Pansy and Draco dated for a while, and it wasn't until Cho came on the scene that the two officially separated. Still, they remain good friends, not unlike him and Cho. As I recall Pansy is dating Jonas Flint now, but I may be wrong.

Anyway, I'm wondering if Draco has seen Paul and me, if he saw us _kissing_. Suddenly I feel incredibly guilty, though I hate myself for it- I'm sure Draco feels no guilt when he's screwing Aiken Dunn. It would serve him right to see me with a hot guy he obviously hates…still, I'm not sure if I want that to happen, and my lips are burning with the guilt of what I've done.

I'm ripped out of my musings when a hand waves back and forth in my face. "Ginny, are you there?-" Paul is saying, and I turn to him with burning cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Paul!" I say guiltily, taking in his handsome, smiling face.

Anyone could have seen us. In fact, judging from the giggling coming from the table next to our booth, a whole bunch of people _did_. If Draco didn't see me he'll _hear_ all about it.

The thought makes a ripple of fear go through me.

By Merlin, I am such a fucking mess. And it's all Draco's fault!

"You know," Paul says quietly, "You can go say hi to him, if you want…"

The words sink in and my eyes widen at the possibility of what Paul is suggesting. I can just see it now, me waltzing up to Draco to say hi during my date with "the golden boy of Hogwarts"…

I shake my head frantically. "_No, no, no!_… I-I don't want to do that. In fact, I want us to _go!"_ I stand and grab Paul by the hand, completely on impulse and not even thinking of what I'm doing. All I know is that I have to get out of there, _stat!_

"But Ginny!" he says, following after me as I make a dash for the exit, "What about the food, I thought you were hungry!"

"Yes! I need ice cream!" I bite out.

We make it to the door and I practically throw myself at it, hastening to get it open.

Rosmerta has some of those quaint old metal doorknobs on her wooden doors, and I've always admired them for the homey touch they add to the place. Also, they have never given me any trouble- until now.

I twist the knob and nothing happens. I try again, a little more forcibly this time- no result.

_GAH!_

I twist and turn the damned thing, yanking mightily, but the door just won't open.

"Ginny-" Paul begins, touching my shoulder lightly.

_"NO!" _I snap, tugging at the metal knob with both hands now. My heart is beating wildly, and I'm aware that conversation behind me has become hushed. "I have to. get. this. OPEN!"

I pull at it desperately, but the knob only rattles uselessly, refusing to budge.

"_Alohomora!"_ I cry, flicking my wand at it, and it remains impassive.

I fling myself at the door, all the while jarring the stupid knob, and suddenly I feel Paul's hands planted firmly on my shoulders.

"Ginny, let me try," he says gently.

I slide away, feeling my face burn with shame, my heart racing wildly under my sweater. I can feel all eyes on us; everyone seems to be looking at us with amusement and puzzlement.

"Oh _no!"_ Rosmerta calls out from behind the counter. "Oh that blasted door is jammed again! And it's got the anti-spell ward!"

I refuse to turn around, and I'm hoping desperately that by some quirk of fate Draco is missing the spectacle, but I know that even if he were deaf, dumb and blindfolded -and locked in one of Rosmerta's cabinets- Draco would be aware that this was happening. _Everyone_ is aware that this is happening- The Three Broomsticks just isn't that big of a place, and it's not full yet.

That twit Rosmerta finally comes up to us, daintily holding a skeleton key and apologizing profusely.

I know I'm blushing as red as my hair now, and as the door is finally opened I try my best not to look back.

But just before I step through it my eyes dart to the left, and latch onto an impassive pair of stormy gray ones.

**X**

We walk out into the early November afternoon in glum silence. Imposing gray clouds have gathered overhead, and the temperature has dropped considerably. Paul and I walk in the direction of the Shrieking Shack, each lost in our own thoughts as the sky darkens overhead.

I apologized –several times- and he just nodded quietly.

"Ginny, I know you don't want to talk about it," he says suddenly, coming to a dead halt. "But… I sort of have to know…"

I gulp, waiting for it, and raise my eyes to his clear blue ones.

"Ginny," he begins quietly, "Is there anything going on between you and Malfoy?"

I shake my head "no", biting my bottom lip.

"But do you _want_ there to be?" he presses.

I look up at the Ravenclaw in surprise; it's an obvious question, really, but it's not one I was expecting and I'm not sure I know how to answer it.

"I don't know…"I whisper quietly, looking down at the frozen ground. "I just don't _know_. He's so…so…" I clench my hands into fists, struggling to express what I feel, but I don't know how. "I think we're just too different," I whisper, admitting this to myself for the first time.

I can feel Paul's eyes on my face, and I know he's listening carefully to everything I'm saying. I wish I weren't babbling so uselessly, but I really don't know how else to express what I feel…

"We have different values… and…And I don't think Draco knows how to be with someone. In a _real_ relationship, I mean…and I'm _sure_ I would get hurt…but then…I mean…" I look up at Paul desperately, and read the disappointment in his eyes quite easily. "I'm sorry. I know that's not what you wanted to hear…"

"It's not," Paul admits, shrugging. "I wanted to hear something like…_'that stupid git? Never!'_"

I smile and he smiles back, cupping my cheek gently, and his fingers feel cold against my skin, but it's not unpleasant.

"But I know what it's like to fall for the wrong person," he says quietly. "I know all about that, actually."

"You mean…Cho?" I ask, tilting my head to the side.

Paul sighs, nodding. "Yeah, Cho." He looks past my shoulder, and his brow becomes furrowed. "You know, Ginny," he begins slowly, putting his hands in his pockets. "She's dating _Malfoy_…"

"No," I say firmly, and Paul's eyes dart to mine. "She's not. Did she tell you that she was?"

Paul looks nonplussed for a moment. "Well, she didn't _say_ it…I mean…no. But she didn't _deny_ it, either…"

I don't doubt for one second that Draco was telling me the truth; somehow I _know_ in my gut that he would never lie to me. He might fling the truth in people's faces in the worst possible way, he may be sarcastic and ironic, he might leave things unsaid, he may be the biggest jerk in Hogwarts…but- he's not a liar.

Then I think back to that heated conversation I saw outside of the library, and remember that Paul seemed incredibly calm while Cho seemed angry and distressed.

"Maybe Cho wanted to make you jealous?" I say carefully, raising my hand to brush my hair out of my face as a chill wind blows around us.

"Oh I wouldn't put it past her," Paul says bitterly, his jaw tensing. "She's great at mind games and passive-aggression."

"Are you…." I bite my lip, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. "Are you still… I mean…"

"I was," he says softly, his eyes on the brown and yellow leaves dancing around us. "For a long time I was hung up on her. But she drives me _crazy_…We fight so much, Cho and I. I hate the person I am when I'm with her. It took me a long time to admit it, but I just don't think we're good together, no matter how much I wanted to make it work…"

He trails off, his blue eyes on the stormy sky behind me, and I take in the strained expression on his handsome face.

"And I don't think anyone's ever going to be good enough for her," he adds softly, so softly I almost don't catch it, "After Cedric Diggory."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

As I recall, Harry and Cho's relationship didn't work out because she was still struggling to get over Cedric's death. But it's been two years now…you would think she would have been able to move on by now.

"Have you told her you think that?" I ask quietly, and it's Paul's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Well, no, I haven't," he murmurs, raising his shoulders somewhere between a shrug and a stretch. "It just feels like everything's been said between us, and nothing ever changes and… I'm just tired, I guess." He looks away again and I can see that his eyes are sad, but his expression is resolute. "I just want to move on," he says softly.

"Well she still cares about you, you know," I counter gently. "She nearly clawed my eyes out when she heard you and I were going out."

Paul grins, tugging at a strand of my hair lightly in a way that reminds me of- never mind.

"This is a pretty _bad_ date, Gin," he says, chuckling. "We're talking about our screwed up relationships with screwed up, complicated people, but not about…well, _us."_

I laugh and he smiles at me, and after a moment he draws me in for a big, warm hug.

"You know, I meant what I said," he whispers quietly in my ear. "I've never met anyone like you, Ginny. If things don't work out with your Slytherin git, let me know and…we might go out on another date. A _real_ one." I laugh at this, and he kisses my cheek before saying, "But for now I think we really should be just friends."

I look up at him with gratitude and relief, and he just grins, but I can tell he's still sad.

"How about that ice cream then?"

**X**

"Paul is _wonderful,"_ Shawn says, sighing.

"Yeah, he really is," I agree, feeling a pang of guilt.

A totally hot, totally wonderful guy wants to be with me and all I can do is pine over some idiot. And I have eyes for no one but him.

There's really only Draco for me…all I see is him. And no matter how many Pauls fall at my feet…there's only Draco.

Fortunately Draco's match-making skills have won my best friend over, and she doesn't comment on his inadequacies in light of Paul's...wonderfulness. Still, the thought hangs over us, unspoken.

It's Sunday morning and Shawn and I are walking down a deserted corridor, making our way to a late breakfast at the Great Hall. Okay, it'll be lunch, but we're calling it "breakfast" cause we just got up.

We meet no one on the way; it's past noon and the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match must be about to start.

Now that everyone thinks that Cho and Draco are dating again, people have rushed out to the pitch en masse to witness them duel it out in a Quidditch match. They're probably hoping for a steamy kiss at the end, or something like that.

"Ginny, go get me a plate of eggs, or something with potatoes," Shawn says suddenly. "I'll catch up with you in a bit- I forgot to tell Seamus I won't be going to Hogsmeade or to the match, so I'll go owl him now."

"Right. _Seamus,"_ I say, grinning slyly, and Shawn rolls her eyes around.

She's really gotten more irritable since hooking up with her sexy Irish boy, and I wonder what the hell is up. I mean, seriously.

Anyway, now that she's gone I can pine and think of Draco in peace. Yes. The thought of Draco hasn't left my mind, not for an instant. No matter what I'm doing, what I'm thinking, there seems to be a part of me chanting his name incessantly in my head, ever since the moment I walked out of the club meeting room on Friday. It seems like something is left unsaid between us, and no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the feeling that I need to see him again.

Such are my thoughts as I round a corner, and suddenly I'm met with the sight of Blaise Zabini, all six feet of him, dressed in his green and silver Quidditch uniform, and holding his state-of-the-art broom in one gloved hand.

"Hey, Ginny," he says casually, smirking amusedly at the way my eyes take him in. It's not hard to look good in a Quidditch uniform, but some people, and Blaise is one of them, manage to look _amazing._

"All this can be yours, you know…" he says quietly. Then he grins. "I'm kidding… I know you are-" and here he rolls his eyes and sighs heavily "-spoken for."

I look at him sharply at these words, feeling my heart tremble. "So it's true?" I ask, "Draco told you I was…I was _spoken for_?"

Blaise raises his dark eyebrows, his eyes meeting mine. "Oh, so he finally told you?" a wide grin spreads over his handsome face. "That little _wanker…"_ he says softly, still grinning.

"Told me what?" I ask quietly, and Blaise's coal black eyes look at me intently for a moment.

"That I fancied you," he says matter-of-factly -and without a trace of shame- as he gives me a sexy grin. "He'd been threatening to do it for weeks."

"Oh," I say, grinning back. "Yeah."

I'm not fooled, not for one instant.

Blaise is grinning as he usually is, and there's nothing in his voice, in his expression or in his attitude telling me that something's up; he's acting the same as always. But I caught it. I caught that millisecond of a pause, that _'Oh shit!'_ moment that flashed in his eyes when I asked "told me what?"

"Well, I have some Ravenclaw ass to kick, Ginny," Blaise says self-importantly, but his dark, slanted eyes are sparkling with amusement. "How about a kiss for good luck, then?" He places one long, thin finger against his sculpted cheek, indicating where I should deposit said kiss, and I roll my eyes around.

"Here," I say, kissing the tips of my fingers and blowing in his direction.

"_Oooh,"_ he purrs, raising an eyebrow. "Ginny…I see you have a natural talent for blow-"

"_-Good luck, _Blaise!"I say pointedly, trying not to laugh, and then turn on my heel.

I can feel his eyes on my butt as I walk away in the direction of the Great Hall, but I can't be bothered; there's only one thing on my mind, now.

"_So he finally told you…"_

**X**

Shawn and I spend the afternoon in the library studying for Potions.

Once we've got a couple of units covered, I decide to work on Draco's club publicity and Shawn agrees to help- Colin has postponed our meeting until tomorrow, so I'm pretty much on my own on this one; unless you count Shawn. Surprisingly, we come up with a rather nice ad, as per Draco's specifications, and I shrink it and put it in my bag so I can owl it to him later.

"I want a nap," Shawn pouts, and I realize I could go for one, too.

"But what about our Charms homework?" I whine.

"We'll nap now and then do the Charms crap after dinner," Shawn says reasonably.

Gosh, I love having a friend that's lazier than I am.

We pack our stuff and head to the tower.

On our way there we come across an unexpected sight: two thirds of the Dream Team- not the brain, but the brawn- Harry and Ron, are walking up to us, and my brother is holding _the ugliest cat you ever saw_ in a loving headlock.

I wonder at my brother's gruffness with the animal- until I notice that the cat swipes a paw full of claws at anything that comes within a mile of it.

"What's this?" I inquire amusedly.

"It's a gift," Harry says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in a gesture that is both nerdy and adorable. "For Hermione. We found it on our way from Hogsmeade."

"You guys didn't go to the game?" I ask quietly.

Ron shoots me a look. "No, we _didn't._ We went to Hogsmeade, Ginny."

My brother has been in a considerably better disposition since getting back together with that ninny, Parvati, but any mention of Draco- however indirect- is enough to sour his mood. Thankfully he's dropped the subject entirely; we haven't spoken of it again, nor have we used the L word. And I don't mean "lesbian", though I'm sure Ron would rather see me become one if it stopped me from going out with Draco.

"So what about this cat then?" I demand, changing the subject.

We all stare at the cat, who glares back at us through hateful, beady little eyes.

It is truly ugly. Seriously. It's calico colored and lanky and just…ugly. And vicious. All in all, a great gift, right?

I tell you, boys are seriously from another planet.

"Well," Ron begins, "You know Hermione's still sad over Crookshanks…"

Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, died in a tragic accident in Fred and George's lab last summer, a grudge she still holds against the twins to this day.

"And she's been really depressed," Ron continues, fastening his hold on the cat's scrawny neck as it swipes at his wrist, "With that whole thing with Fred. She didn't even want to go to Hogsmeade today, in case she saw him. So-"

"-So you thought you'd bring her the cat version of Millicent Bullstrode to make her feel better, is that it?" Shawn demands sarcastically, and Ron glares at her.

They hate each other.

Have you noticed they never, ever speak to each other? It seems each one finally understood that the other is a permanent fixture in my life, so they opt for pretending they can't even see each other, which is kind of difficult considering they're both always around me. Still, they manage, and this is the first time Shawn has spoken to Ron directly in a very, very long time.

I don't know what it is they hate about each other. It's just one of those things, I guess.

Shawn, by the way has had a huge crush on my brother Charlie for years, ever since she saw him de-Gnoming the garden at the Burrow- in his tight dragon-wrangling black leather pants.

But I digress.

After much mutual glaring on Ron and Shawn's part, we make it to the tower and begin to climb the stairs.

The Fat Lady appears to be in high spirits today, and she flirts a bit with Harry before swinging open. We all step through the portrait and walk into the deserted common room- and _freeze._

The common room, you see, isn't deserted at all. In fact, we can all clearly see Hermione Jane Granger standing there, and she's not alone.

There is a girl there, and she's got Hermione's reddened, tear-stained face cradled in her hands and- _they are kissing._

They are _kissing_ sweetly, and for one crazy moment we all stand there just _staring _at them kiss- and then several things happen, all at once:

"Merlin's balls…" Ron whispers quietly, and loosens his hold on the cat, which immediately claws a long gash up my brother's arm -and I think it bites him, too- before scurrying away, screeching like it's possessed, and swiping madly at everyone's legs.

Shawn yelps and climbs on a chair, while Ron turns away, cursing as he clutches at his bleeding arm.

The girl and Hermione break away guiltily, and for the first time I notice the stranger has a beautiful head of vibrant red hair that reaches down to her waist. There's something familiar about her in a jarring way, and it isn't until she turns to look at us that I realize what it is.

She faces us, and Harry -whose green eyes are wide as saucers- looks from her, to me, to Hermione, cursing softly under his breath, and instantly shoves his hands into his pockets. He turns around so fast I'm certain he pulled something.

I can hear him _humming_ to himself in a rather desperate way, but I don't wonder why- I'm frozen in shock staring into the face of—well, _me._

It's _me _I'm looking at, a girl that looks _exactly_ like me, with the same eyes, the same nose, the same rosy cheeks and plump lips. Only she's wearing a black Puddlemere t-shirt over a long-sleeved green sweater and a pair of cargo pants, whereas I'm wearing a navy blue zip hoodie over a pair of jeans.

I look from her startled amber eyes- _my_ eyes- to Hermione's, and the brunette begins to shake her head frantically.

"Ginny, it's not what it looks like!" she says quickly, taking a step towards me.

I look at her dumbly and then turn to the girl again, and she winces, holding up her hands in a pacifying gesture.

"Gin-Gin-" she says, in a voice that's not as squeaky or childish as I'd always imagined it to be; in fact, it's quite pleasant and almost sweet. "I can explain…"

She begins to advance towards me slowly and I take a step back. It's so odd to stand in front of myself, to watch me speak and gesticulate, everything is so, so _bizarre._

I didn't realize I was doing it, but I've drawn my wand, and I'm clutching it tightly in my hand, pointing it at the impostor, as my heart beat quickens.

"Gin-Gin, it's _me_-" the girl says, but before she can finish speaking she doubles over gasping in pain, as her body –_my_ body- begins to jerk and spasm.

Skin stretches over odd shapes as the girl's body begins to elongate and broaden, and her hair begins to shorten.

It's a grotesque sight and I find myself looking away.

Now that the shock of seeing Hermione _kissing_ _me_ has worn off, my mind has supplied the identity of the impostor, and I'm not surprised to find myself looking at the handsome face of my brother Fred. He's back in his own tall, athletic body, with longuish red hair that is a bit darker than mine is, but he's still wearing the same contrite expression I saw on my own face a few seconds earlier.

I'm too stunned to speak, everyone is, I think. Shawn has come down from the chair, Ron is standing next to Shawn, Harry's… still off humming to himself- and we're all staring at Fred in silence.

"It was the only way," he says quickly, in his own deep voice- thankfully. "I _had_ to see her, Gin. She wouldn't return my owls, and she wouldn't come down to Hogsmeade, and I couldn't come in here…unless-"

"How _could _you, Fred?" I say accusingly, and he winces.

I turn to glare at Hermione.

"I wasn't kissing _you_, Ginny!" she says quickly, blushing almost purple. "I was kissing_ Fred! _Really, it was _Fred."_

"I wasn't thinking, I just- I kissed her," Fred says quickly, taking Hermione's hand in his. "_I_ kissed _her_. It wasn't her fault. And, Ginny, yours was the only strand of hair I had, other than George's!" he says pleadingly.

It's so weird to see Fred being serious about something and genuinely apologizing, and without a trace of cheekiness. He really seems upset and- _desperate._

"You left that comb at our flat last summer, remember?" he says, his warm brown eyes, so like mine, beseeching me. "Please Ginny, you have to forgive me."

I roll my eyes around and fold my arms over my chest. "Fred, you wanker, I'm not angry that you took my hair," I explain, glaring at him again. "I'm just upset that you didn't tell me you were going to. You could have owled me, you know."

Fred stares at me incredulously and then his face breaks into a wide grin, giving him the appearance of a pixie- cute and mischievous as hell.

"I knew I could count on you, Gin!" he says, coming over to hug me.

I roll my eyes around again as he ruffles the top of my head, but then I turn to give Hermione a reassuring grin.

"I won't deny it was…weird," I begin, "Seeing that, and all. I mean…wow."

"Yeah," Shawn pipes, "WOW."

"You're sick, you know that?" Ron- who's clutching his arm like it's a newborn babe- says to Fred. "Mum said you'd gone bonkers, but I didn't know just how much until now."

"I prefer to call it 'resourceful'," Fred says, giving another pixie-like grin and grabbing Hermione's hand again.

I can't help but notice that she instantly intertwines their fingers.

"Desperate times, and all that…" Fred goes on, still grinning widely. "George and I developed a new product overnight, by the way. You take it with the Polyjuice Potion and it deforms your clothes, making them stretch to fit whatever body you have," he explains, tugging at his shirt, and I watch Hermione watch him with a ghost of a smile on my lips.

I know that look of badly concealed fascination and… awe. It's the same look I want to give Draco, every time I see him.

Anyway, Harry's back from his weird humming moment, whatever _that _was, and he stares at all of us from behind his spectacles.

"That was…I don't want to _think_ about what that was…" he says, shaking his head.

Hermione blushes again and comes up to me. "I just want you to know that I don't fancy you," she says gravely. "Really, Ginny. You have to believe me, Fred and I had just had a long conversation and I was seeing _him_ the whole time, _not_ you."

"That's okay, Mione," I say, patting her on the shoulder. "It wasn't me, anyway. It was just…shocking, I guess."

"You do have the softest lips, though," Hermione blurts, blushing, and Harry makes a little strangled noise.

"Uh, _thanks_, Mione," I say, grinning.

"Meanwhile, my arm is bleeding and I might die," Ron says crossly.

"You_ promise?" _Shawn snaps.

Before Ron can retort, Harry hastens to perform the Cauterizing Charm on his life-threatening cat scratches.

The persistent flush in the Gryffindor Quidditch captain's cheeks makes me decide to store his whole reaction to the sight of me and Hermione 'kissing' for further analysis.

"You guys," he says suddenly, looking from me, to Fred, to Hermione gravely, "Just promise you'll never do that again!"

**X**

I guess that what happened next was a combination of fate and my quickness to wrath.

"Ginny…are you and Paul Keegan dating?"

The question was spoken haltingly, and it caught me entirely by surprise. I had been on my way out of the library, having spent the last forty-five minutes there taking care of my Charms essay.

Fred had left some time before, and I should point out he borrowed one of _Ron's_ hairs to Polyjuice himself this time. On that note, Fred and George are so used to being devious and tricky that instead of asking Ron for a hair from the start, they developed this desperate last minute scheme that could have easily ended in tears and a lots and lots of trouble.

Boys will be boys and the twins will be the twins, I guess.

Anyway.

As I was walking out of the library, I encountered the cherubic Justin Finch-Fletchley and he instantly latched on to me, making small talk for a bit before dropping the question: was I dating Paul Keegan?

"Um," I began, cursing Shawn for having stayed with the Irish Twit, Seamus, up in the common room. If she were here this awkward conversation wouldn't be happening!

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry…" Justin blurted. "It's just that I heard something about that and… I was kind of surprised."

"Well, Justin," I said, smiling forcefully. "Paul and I thought about dating for a bit…but we decided to stay friends."

"Oh," he said, smiling, and his whole face instantly brightened. "That's good. I mean, it's good to have friends…So, um… I was thinking…maybe we could hang out again, like we used to."

My fake smile never faltered, and I hated myself for being a phony. "Justin, the thing is," I said haltingly, choosing my words carefully- the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. "I, ah… don't really want to _date_ anyone right now…"

"No, that's okay. I know that you don't like me that way," Justin said, shaking his head, his gentle eyes taking me in. "I know that, but I…I just want to be close to you. I mean, I'd like for us to be friends. We could go to Hogsmeade and stuff…it doesn't have to be a date, we could just hang out, you know?"

I smiled sadly at him, and looked down at my feet. I knew exactly what he was trying to do, because I had tried that with Harry.

"_If we're friends, then maybe he'll see how wonderful I am, _I thought pathetically,_ And how right we are for each other…"_

"Well, sure," I told the Hufflepuff. "We can hang out."

Justin tried to act like he was unaffected, but I could practically see the way hope danced in his blue eyes.

Am I that transparent with Draco? God, I really hope not. I'm not sure what would be worse, to have him laugh at me… or_ pity_ me, the way I do Justin.

I really suck.

"Well, I have to go now, Gin," Justin said, still smiling brightly. "I've got an essay to work on too and I-" Suddenly Justin's smile froze on his face and his eyebrows shot up. His eyes were fixed on something past my shoulder, and I frowned in confusion.

I turned to find the stunning Draco Malfoy standing behind me. He was in Quidditch uniform, complete with his gear, standing there casually with a hand on his left hip like some golden statue of Apollo, or some other gorgeous pagan god.

My heart skipped a beat at seeing him, and suddenly I was filled with an unexpected sort of…joy.

There was something decidedly regal about Draco in his silver and green Quidditch robes, in the way he wore the tight pants and combat boots, in the way his silvery blond hair hung loosely over his shoulder in a slightly disheveled state. The uniform gives him a decidedly rugged appearance which goes wonderfully with the delicacy of his Veela features.

Draco's intense gray were fixed on me, and though his face was expressionless, I could see he was highly amused.

He looked at Justin- who eyed him warily- and sauntered up to us gracefully, his lips quirked into his trademark smirk.

"Helga Hufflepuff's _tits!"_ Draco swore loudly, and with obvious relish. "I've been looking all over for you!"

Justin's cheeks became tinted with a delicate pink, and so help me, I tried my best not to laugh; seeing Draco made something bubble happily inside of me, and I felt like a child again.

I covered up with a fit of coughing and Draco eyed me speculatively before turning to Justin again. "Hey, mate, I hope you don't mind, but Weasley and I have some things to talk about."

I felt my inane smile begin to vanish at these words.

Justin nodded curtly and turned to me again, obviously frazzled. "Bye Ginny," he said tightly.

I nodded at Justin; the sudden joy and elation I felt at having laid eyes on Draco fizzing and dying just as suddenly as it had appeared. He was acting as if our conversation on Friday, complete with book-kicking and everything- hadn't even happened, and he'd called me _Weasley._

_Why isn't he angry? Doesn't he care that I kissed Paul?_ I thought hotly.

He was watching Justin walk away now, a little smirk playing on his perfect lips, and I rolled my eyes around. What did he want, anyway?

"So, other than scandalizing poor Justin, was there something you wanted?" I snapped, and he turned to me with a raised eyebrow.

"No need to thank me," Draco huffed, sounding hurt; then he grinned maliciously. "I could tell you were just _thrilled_ to be in his company."

I rolled my eyes again and Draco came closer to me until we were almost touching, completely disregarding proper social distance, as is usual.

"So, what did young Finch-Fletchley want?" he inquired softly, and I could _feel_ the mockery in his voice more than I could hear it.

I scowled.

I could identify with 'young Finch-Fletchley' in more ways than one, and I didn't appreciate Draco Malfoy, of all people, making fun of him in this context.

"I don't see how that's any of your business, Draco," I replied angrily, with my hands on my hips.

"It's not," he agreed nonchalantly, fixing his silver eyes on mine. "And yet, it's so very amusing to me."

"Good for you," I retorted, glaring at him; I was becoming angrier by the second. "I'm glad I can serve to amuse you. What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Oh, so it's back to Malfoy, then?" Draco said calmly, raising his eyebrows. "A bit fickle, aren't we?"

I froze, staring at him in amazement. And then I threw my head back and practically barked with bloodcurdling laughter.

Then I glared at him, even as my face became red with fury. "_Fickle?_ _You're_ calling _me_ fickle? You have some nerve, boy. Just where do you get off?" I demanded hotly.

"I'm not fickle, _girl,"_ he snorted. "If that's what you're implying."

"Oh, like _hell_ you're not," I retorted, my voice tight with anger.

I was becoming more and more incensed and Draco more amused; if there ever was someone whose moods could be deemed 'mercurial', it's Draco Malfoy.

Seeing the potential of another ball-kicking scenario- or worse, seeing myself lose control and ending in tears of rage and misery within the next minute, I opted for masking my emotions as I'd seen him do dozens of times.

"You know what? You're _not_ fickle," I said airily, my voice light and flippant as if I weren't boiling with fury. "You're the most consistent of people I've ever met, Malfoy. In fact, you're the picture of _honesty._ You're just so… _forthcoming_, really. No one would dream of accusing _you_ of being _fake_, or of being a manipulative prat with a secret agenda."

Draco's face had progressively hardened throughout my cheerfully delivered rant, his eyes dulling until there wasn't a single trace of humor in them. Now he was looking at me in stony silence.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he stated coldly. "You're still a child, and there are things you can't understand."

Rage bubbled in my blood at his condescension, and a white heat spread over my body until I felt like I was on fire, but I kept my face completely expressionless.

Despite his icy, contained demeanor, I could tell Draco was angry as well. But we both stuck to our guns.

"Well, you're right, as usual!" I proclaimed laughingly, and without a trace of sarcasm. "There are plenty of things poor stupid Ginny Weasley and her childish little brain just can't grasp."

Draco's eyes narrowed and he continued to behold me coldly, but he said nothing.

A pleasant grin was plastered on my face, but I wondered if my eyes were flashing with anger as well.

"Like, for example," I began, looking up to the ceiling speculatively and sounding remarkably like Lavender Brown, "I can't understand why the great Draco Malfoy himself has deigned to come down from his high perch of superiority to chase after a blood traitor such as myself."

Draco flinched delicately at these words, as if I'd slapped him, but I went right ahead.

"A red-haired, freckled, tragically poor little girl such as myself," I continued merrily, noting the way his eyes had darkened to the color of charcoal. "And yet he _does _follow me around. He looks at me when he thinks I can't notice. He _eavesdrops_ shamelessly on my conversations with other guys, and once-" and here I smiled widely, pretending I couldn't see the uncharacteristic flush that had spread over Draco's cheeks "-Once he even tried to _kiss_ me! He did, in this very hallway. I don't understand why he would do-"

Before I could finish speaking Draco had driven me up against the wall, and my back slammed into it none too gently. I didn't even see him move.

I stared at him through wide eyes as his hands moved from my waist to the wall behind me. He braced his arms on either side of my head, trapping me between his body and the hard stone behind me.

But it was his eyes that had me really pinned; his stunning eyes flashing like quicksilver. Their effect on me was hypnotic; I found myself unable to look away, unable to move, even as he leaned forward, to whisper in my ear.

"Why _wouldn't_ I want to kiss you?" he said silkily, in a voice that was just an octave lower than normal, but managed to send ripples through my skin.

Draco's lips were still brushing my ear, his body pressed against mine, and I had to hold back a whimper. The scent of him, that peculiar mix of vanilla, sandalwood and fresh parchment, was intoxicating.

The side of Draco's face was pressed to mine, his impossibly smooth skin like silk against my cheek. "I am the biggest _whore_ in all of Hogwarts, am I not?" he whispered tightly. He was breathing heavily and so was I, my chest rising and falling against his. His voice sounded strained, though it was the same arrogant baritone that always makes me melt."But what about you?" he demanded, drawing away to look into my eyes.

Our faces were so close together I could feel his breath on my skin.

His hands were at my waist now, and I could no longer hide the fact that I was trembling.

"As I recall," Draco said softly, "You looked like you were ready to kiss me back that day. What's _your_ excuse?"

My heart was beating a million miles a minute, and though his eyes cut at me like knives, I didn't try to look away from them.

It was he who broke eye contact, as his eyes, still glittering with rage, slid down my face to settle on my lips.

I was trembling like a leaf, and my chest felt as if it were about to burst.

Draco's cheeks were still burning an angry red, his whole body taut like a violin string would too tight. I'd never seen him like this, never.

Driven by instinct I reached up to touch his face, wanting to relieve whatever it was that was making him so tense, so very upset; I had gone too far, and he was right- I couldn't understand…but I so wanted to.

The minute my hands made contact with his skin, Draco's eyes closed, the beautiful line of his jaw tensing under my fingers, his hands contracting into fists.

And then he opened his eyes again, and all as I saw was a flash of mercury as he inclined his head, and captured my lips with his.

**X**

* * *

**Note: **I know. That was _evil_. :D

**Other Notes: **

**PLEASE review.** Lurking is not cool! Reviewing is! ;p

Seriously though, a lot of you didn't review the last chapter! Cut a poor writer some slack…if you only knew how happy feedback makes me *insert sad violin music* sometimes it's the only thing that can bring a smile, a real smile, to my face...

Okay, okay, I'm laying it on thick!

I will do what I must! :D


	12. Ginevra

**Quick note:** ('quick' by Rowan standards, anyway ;p)

-THANK YOU for the wonderful feedback! Totally blew me away. I'm still like this O_O

And to my anonymous reviewers, you guys have been amazing! :D I would like to answer all of you individually like I do my signed reviews! I was thinking of adding responses to your reviews at the end, but I'm short on time and I wanted to post this TODAY. Still, the ones that nagged me to update and the ones who stopped eating their ice cream so they could type in their reviews, the ones who stopped studying at the risk of failing their tests to read the previous chapter, and everyone else! THANK YOU! :D

-We're reaching the end of the story! There is _one_ more chapter left.

-Please don't be mad at Ginny; she's going to act very stupidly and annoyingly for a bit, but cut her some slack. You know all she's been through! :D

-So, this is it! THE chapter: all will be revealed! :D Sorry for the delay, but this is extra-long and extra-shocking! And as promised, it opens with a 'hot and steamy' kiss. I hope it makes up for it! ^_^

-The word 'Ginevra' is never actually said out loud, but the chapter title is fitting- you'll see why! Another alternate title is **'Scandal'**! :D

* * *

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter Twelve: "Ginevra"**

_I've been crawling on my belly  
Clearing out what could've been.  
I've been wallowing in my own confused  
And insecure delusions._

_For a piece to cross me over  
Or a word to guide me in.__  
Change is coming.  
Now is my time. _

_I want to feel the change consume me,  
Feel the outside turning in.  
I want to feel the metamorphosis and  
Cleansing I've endured within_

_My shadow_

_  
Listen to my muscle memory.  
Contemplate what I've been clinging to._

_I  
choose to live and to  
Grow,  
take and give and to  
Move,  
learn and love and to  
Cry,  
kill and die and to  
Be paranoid and to  
Lie,  
hate and fear and to  
Do  
what it takes to step through._

_See my shadow changing,  
Stretching up and over me_

_Soften this old armor.  
Hoping I can clear the way  
By stepping through my shadow,  
Coming out the other side._

_  
Step into the shadow _

_  
Forty six and two  
are just ahead of me…_

--"Forty Six and 2", by Tool

**X**

Those first seconds were everything you imagine a kiss will be when you're a little kid, and you press the plastic faces of your dolls together.

It was- _electric._

Little shockwaves broke out over my lips the second they met his, and rippled through my skin with all the force of a tidal wave. I've never been as aware of my body as I was then. Colors were exploding behind my eyes, and every hair on my body felt like it was standing on end. I could feel blood flood my veins, rushing desperately towards my wild heart, and I could feel Draco's lips pressed against mine.

His hands were on my waist now, and he was drawing me to him with what felt like a tremendous urgency. His body was so firm and tense it was like being pressed to a wall of concrete, and I never imagined myself wishing to be crushed to death, but in that moment I wanted it. My trembling fingers dug into Draco's shoulders, clutching at the rough material of his Quidditch robes to draw him closer to me, as his impossibly soft lips continued to brush gently against mine.

And then I felt the tip of his tongue trace the curve of my lips, and I parted them without hesitation, allowing him entrance. He deepened the kiss, driving his tongue in to rub against the tip of mine, and I heard myself moan into his mouth. In that same moment my knees gave, but Draco's arms had circled my waist and he was pressing me against the wall by then, as my hands ran up through his incredibly soft hair. It felt like silk between my fingers, as did the sides of our tongues sliding together, revolving around each other. It was like velvet, it was slick and wet and hot and sweet…it was intoxicating.

OH. MY. GOD.

My head swayed gently to the rhythm of our kissing, and I could feel jolts of electricity race up my body, from my throbbing, pulsing center to the sensitive peaks of my nipples, which were hard as spear points brushing across Draco's broad chest. Our tongues continued their furious dance, sometimes slowing until our kisses became drugging and lazy, only to pick up the pace again. I heard him _growl_ into my mouth, I _felt_ it, as our lower bodies undulated against each other gently in a way that felt so, so dirty and sensuous and _right._

My heart was beating like a war drum as Draco's hands traced the curve of my bum, drawing my hips firmly against his narrow ones. My whole body seemed to be pulsing with a quiet sort of energy I'd never felt before, and I could feel it down to the very tips of my toes.

One of Draco's hands was at the back of my neck now, drawing my head back, opening me to him as his other arm once again circled my waist. We were both panting heavily as we continued to devour each other with this brutal kiss, and at some point I became aware he'd raised my thigh and hooked my knee over his left hip. He was sucking my lower lip into his mouth now, and I was arched into him wantonly, our bodies perfectly aligned, and there was no room for thought. All that was real was the feel of our bodies pressed tightly against each other's, the glorious feel of his lips on mine, of our tongues twirling around each other-

"_Draco Malfoy!"_ a voice we both knew well hissed suddenly, and reality suddenly crashed down on us like a bucket of ice water.

We both froze, our lips still pressed together, and then gently disentangled ourselves from each other.

I opened my eyes and saw that Draco's intense silver gray ones were fixed on mine, and for a moment we just stared at each other silently, both panting heavily. There was a healthy flush in Draco's cheeks, and his hair was lying about his head in elegant disarray.

Forcing myself to look past his shoulder, I saw the thin, elegant figure of Severus Snape standing there, clad entirely in black, and wearing a look of unconcealed surprise on his chiseled features.

Draco had lowered my leg by then, but we remained motionless, me with my hands on his shoulders, his arms still circling my waist.

Draco's eyes were still on my face, his forehead resting against mine, and it took me a moment to realize that he didn't move because he was waiting for things to return to a more or less presentable state in the region below his waist.

The proof that all was not quite as it should be- at least when facing a professor- was pressed firmly against my hip.

Fortunately Snape seemed to understand this, and instead of demanding that Draco turn around to face him- which, I admit it, would have been hilarious under any other circumstance- our Potions Master allowed his blond pupil time to compose himself.

I looked back at Draco again; his beautiful face was expressionless, his silver eyes fixed on my shoulder as he breathed deeply. A lock of his silvery blond hair covered his right eye and I would have brushed it away, had it not been for the presence of Snape, who loomed over Draco's shoulder like some black bird of doom.

Finally he was able to turn around, and he did so. Draco faced away from me and I noticed he stood directly in between me and our teacher, as if wanting to shield me behind his body.

"I didn't expect this sort of foolishness from you, Draco," Snape said tersely, his dark, hawk-like eyes burning into the Slytherin's. "From _either_ of you," he added darkly, but didn't look at me.

I made to move from behind Draco, wanting to bravely stand next to him and bear the brunt of Snape's displeasure, but the blond gave me a look of warning out of the corner of his eye.

I stayed put.

"This scandalous behavior will not be tolerated," Snape hissed silkily. "Twenty points, each of you."

"I'm sorry, professor," Draco said curtly, and Snape made a sound that was suspiciously like a snort.

"I don't doubt it, Mr. Malfoy," he sneered sarcastically, clearly on the path to recovery from his initial shock.

He slid his hands into the dark sleeves of his robes, and glared at Draco again before speaking. "Neither of you better be here when I walk by this hallway again," he drawled arrogantly.

And to my immense surprise he left, his robes billowing behind him, without having dished out detention and without once having glanced my way. I was glad, for I would have just died of embarrassment if he had looked at me.

Draco watched Snape walk away, and I watched him. The taste of him was still on my lips, which felt swollen and tingly and must have been very red.

I tugged at his sleeve, wanting to look into his eyes again, but he remained unmoving. Alarm bells went off in my head, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards me.

He didn't budge. "I'm sorry," he said finally, with his back still to me.

What?

"I lost all control over myself," he continued brusquely, his shoulders tense. "That shouldn't have happened, Weasley."

I froze, staring into the back of his fair head incredulously.

"Nobody will know about this," Draco said, finally turning to look at me. "I swear." His silver gray eyes met my wide brown ones, and in them I read resolve.

"Paul won't know," he added quietly.

I just stood there, shaking my head in desperate denial of reality, feeling myself sway with confusion and- shame.

"Do you even _know_ my name?" I heard myself say bitterly, my voice somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

I don't know why I asked him that, really, in the context of things, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

Draco's fine eyebrows contracted into a frown, and his pale eyes looked at me in that way that said so much without ever giving away anything.

"I know your name," he whispered almost inaudibly, gray eyes running up and down my face.

I blinked in confusion as the tips of his fingers touched my full lips, tracing them gently. My eyes searched for his, but he refused to meet them.

"_Guinevere,"_ Draco breathed, and I was so shocked by the tenderness in his voice and in his gesture that I didn't think to tell him he was wrong.

He walked away then, and I stared after him dumbly, watching the way his hair and the silver stripes in his Quidditch uniform gleamed under the light of the lamps hanging overhead.

It wasn't until much later that I realized that my fingers were on my lips, which were still tingling from his kiss.

**X**

It's morning and I drag myself out of bed blearily, feeling actually more exhausted than I did when I crawled under my sheets last night. I can't say I'm surprised, for I didn't do much sleeping; I spent the time staring up at the ceiling, thinking, remembering, imagining… Torn between utter misery and unspeakable bliss.

If I close my eyes I can still see the way Draco looked at me before he kissed me, the way he looked at me when I asked if he knew my name. And I can still feel his lips, warm and soft, pressed against mine.

Now as I'm getting ready to go down to breakfast I'm still lost in thought, and Shawn knows not to interrupt my reverie; she leaves me to my preparations in silence.

My years at Hogwarts have not been in vain; I can knot my tie while blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back. Okay, not really; but yeah, I'm good at knotting ties.

I observe my reflection in the mirror as my fingers do their work, taking in my weary appearance.

I'm reminded of a wilted, drooping flower.

There are dark circles under my puffy eyes, and my face is sallow and wan, to the point where the normally discreet freckles that sprinkle my nose and cheeks are defiantly sticking out, like they're dots meant to be connected.

I scowl.

On some days more than others I'm rather pleased with my lot in life, as far the looks go.

As I pull my blood-red hair up into a high ponytail my eyes fall on my plump lips, which I always hated until I discovered guys felt the opposite way towards them.

Again I think of Draco, remembering the feel of his lips on mine, his surprising gesture as he said he knew my name.

Suddenly it occurs to me that Draco Malfoy never does anything without a reason. His motives may be obscure at times, but everything means something; every gesture, every word.

On impulse I run over to my trunk, rifling through the clothes and assorted junk I keep until I find 'the bb', my Italian dictionary. I've used it to look up some words, so I'm familiar with how it works by now; I kneel in front of my bed and lay the heavy book on the mattress. Whispering the word I want to find, I tap the front cover with my wand.

The book opens and the pages turn themselves one after the next in rapid succession. To my surprise they come to a stop in the G section of the _English _portion of the dictionary.

The word 'Guinevere' flashes bright blue, and my eyes scan its definition quickly.

I know who Guinevere was- Arthur's wife and Lancelot's lover. But I had no idea that _Ginevra_ is the Italian form of _Guinevere_; my name is Italian and I didn't even know it.

But that's not the amazing part. As I read, on my eyes widen and my face flushes bright red. My fingers fly to my lips, which I swear are still burning with the gentle touch of Draco's fingers, as my heart flutters against my ribs like a caged bird.

"_I know your name..."_

I believe it is the most subtle and beautiful compliment anyone has ever given me, for Guinevere has another definition.

It means _fair one._

**X**

The morning flew by in a blur for me.

I stomped down to the Great Hall, determined to see Draco, to walk right up to him and- well, I don't know what, but I was determined!

He was not to be seen at breakfast, however, and I found myself sitting dejectedly at my table, picking at my croissant and withstanding the inquisitive eyes that kept darting to me from all over the Hall.

I quickly learned that the rumor of my 'hot and steamy snog' with Paul in Hogsmeade had spread all over the school, as if propelled by Muggle batteries.

I'm told our kiss was so 'scandalous' that Rosmerta herself had to invite us to leave her inn, and even walked us to the door, slamming it behind us in indignation.

Can you believe it? Cause I can. It was those damned Hufflepuffs at the table next to mine and Paul's, I just _know_ it.

Ironically, _Draco_ and I did have a 'scandalous' ' hot and steamy snog'- we could have practically had sex in the hallway if Snape hadn't stopped us- _shiver_- but no one says anything. (Thank Merlin!)

So anyway, you can see how easily reputations get destroyed- if I'd been seen with Draco after my now infamous "Three Broomsticks Romp" with Paul- and yes, I am aware of how depraved that sounds- I'd have instantly been vilified as the biggest whore in the history of Gryffindor House, surpassing even the likes of Lavender Brown. A remarkable feat in and of itself, but not one I'm particularly interested in achieving, you understand.

Needless to say, Ron cornered me this morning- it's like clockwork with him, really- and instantly launched into his "Ginny Weasley, What The Hell Has Gotten Into You?!" tirade. This is one particular rant I've been on the receiving end of several times, ever since the day I wore a faux-leather mini skirt and knee-high Converse boots to Hogsmeade in a last ditch effort of catching Harry's attention, a little over a year ago.

Ron was scandalized, but everyone else seemed pretty happy about it. Even Draco, as I recall, let his stunning eyes trail up and down my body lazily- and quite obviously, much to the displeasure of his then girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson.

I remember blushing bright red and giving him my worst death glare, torn between being pleased at having caught his attention (he _was_ the infamous Draco Malfoy, after all), and being irked at his audacity. He was just a stupid Slytherin git to me back then -albeit a gorgeous one- and I had eyes for no one but Harry.

Life is so weird. What I wouldn't give to have Draco look at me like that again; perhaps it's time to dig up that skirt again. (Kidding!)

Anyway, yeah, Ron yakked away, swiftly going over his talking points- we both know them by heart:

-_Why_ must I crave attention in such a way?  
-Do I _enjoy_ being talked about as if I were a slut?  
-Sometimes he swears he doesn't even know who I really am.  
-Have I stopped to think about how this makes _him_ feel?  
-Don't I realize it's not just _my_ name on the line, but that of my family and my House, as well?

Halfway through the rant (at the beginning of the "Who ARE you, really?" diatribe), I decided to intervene and shut him up in the best way I knew how –other than to unintentionally reveal my love for his sworn enemy; that only works once.

"Ron, you're right," I said meekly, and his mouth instantly snapped shut. "I shouldn't have kissed Paul in public, and I should stop doing things to bring attention to myself like that."

Right, cause I intentionally make a total fool of myself so I can satisfy my rapacious "craving of attention".

Wanker!

"You're- you're _agreeing_ with me?" Ron demanded in amazement, his bright blue eyes swiftly scanning my face for signs of irony.

I remained pokerfaced.

"Yes," I replied solemnly, looking him straight in the eye, "I am."

He stared at me incredulously and I took the opportunity to escape, glad that this "conversation" wouldn't be waiting for me later in the common room.

I went through my morning classes in a zombie-like state, all the while counting the minutes until I could meet up with Draco at lunch.

It is now lunch-time, and as fate would have it, _I _am the one who has to skip a meal this time; today is the last deadline before we go into printing tomorrow. All the newspaper staffers have been running around like headless chickens, and Cho and I have been frantically owling each other all day.

Our exchanges are dry and to the point, and I find myself thinking about letting her know there's nothing going on between Paul and me. But she and I have never spoken of these things, so it would be presumptuous of me to do so, I guess.

Ultimately I rule against it; it would have to be in person and I just don't have the time- I have to go to the library now, to help Colin sort out his pictures for the sports section of the newspaper. Alas, Cho must pine and brood a little longer- hell she might be doing a lovely Ginny-doodle as we speak.

To be quite honest, I don't know how much longer I want to go on playing second banana to somebody who so plainly hates my guts; I just don't have the energy to keep up and I have bigger fish to fry than proving a worthy adversary against Cho Chang. It just isn't in me anymore; I rather obsess over Draco.

I arrive at the nearly deserted library to find Colin already installed at our usual club table, which is strewn with folders and photos of varying sizes. Some are black and white, some color, some magical, some in the Muggle style.

"Wow…" I breathe reverently, grabbing one of the pictures and inspecting it eagerly, instantly reduced to fan-girl status. "I'd never seen this one, Col!"

"What?" Colin asks absently, looking up. "Oh, it's not mine. It was in the archive that McGonagall gave me."

It's an image of _The Team_; what is widely considered to be the best selection in Hogwarts Quidditch team history, as most of these players are either playing professionally or _could_ play, if they so chose: Oliver Wood, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, my brothers Fred and George, and, of course Harry Potter. There never was a better built team at Hogwarts, and there hasn't been one since.

This is a Muggle style picture, in which they're all standing around grinning widely, looking so young and oddly- noble. It's not hard to look noble in full Quidditch regalia, but there's something special about this picture that's just bittersweet.

My eyes fall on Harry, who's grinning shyly and at eleven is looking perhaps more grave than any of his teammates. Something tugs at my heart and I smile, and my smile becomes a grin as my eyes fall on the identical faces of my brothers.

"Okay, this one's definitely in the final cut!" I exclaim, setting it aside from the others.

Then my eyes fall on a more recent picture of Harry and Draco standing face to face in their Quidditch uniforms, shaking hands before a match.

The picture is impressive because both Harry and Draco stand at the same height, and both have the same lean, powerful build, but their differences couldn't be more obvious: the Gryffindor captain's dark hair is a little longer than he wears it now, blowing every which way in the wind, and his normally open face is set with a grim sort of determination as his green eyes meet those of the rival captain's.

In contrast, Draco's white-blond hair is neatly pulled back into a half ponytail. His beautiful face is relaxed, his sensuous mouth curved into a confident smirk, but in his steel gray eyes burns the exact look of fierce determination I see in Harry's.

I look from one to the other and my heart contracts almost painfully. Draco and Harry aren't much different, really. And don't look at me like I'm crazy. They both stand up for what they believe in, they're both brave and protective of those they…well, _care _about, I guess. And if things had been different, maybe they could have been friends. The image I'm seeing captures just that- how strikingly similar they are, despite their differences.

"Oh, wow…this one…I love this picture…" I murmur, absently tracing Draco's impassive face with my index finger. "It's…it's _great..."_

Colin looks up from his work and grins, rolling his eyes around. "Okay, that was fast, Gin. I was thinking we ought to outline the articles, though, so we could select the images fitting each one?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're right," I say, sighing. Giving the picture another longing glance, I set it aside and plop into the chair across from my Senior Editor of Photography.

We work through lunch and through the next couple of hours, and I find myself enjoying our task. It turns out there are lots more Quidditch related pictures of Draco- tons of them.

Too many of them, really. I know Colin won't be missing the black and white one where Draco's looking straight at the camera, a smug smile playing on his lips as he holds up the Snitch, still fluttering between his fingers.

**X**

We had a staff meeting before presenting Snape with our final draft. Cho managed to get the House Elves to serve us dinner in the newspaper staff room, and we ate amidst the group revision of our first issue. I'm glad to say things turned out well.

By the time the meeting ended there was a lot of congratulatory shoulder patting going on, and even some relieved whooping here and there; after a month of working tirelessly, our first issue is finally completed and ready to go to print -prior approval from our Headmaster, that is- and let me just say It. Is. Awesome.

"Well, boss, looks like we did it!" Aidan proclaimed, ruffling the top of my hair affectionately.

I accepted congratulations from him and my other writers, all the while watching a certain brooding Asian girl out of the corner of my eye. As everyone started filing out of the room, cheerfully discussing what our launching party would be like, I walked straight up to Cho.

She glared at me warily from behind slanted cold, hard eyes, flipping her straight black curtain of hair over her shoulder. She had ignored me during the entire meeting, not once looking at me or speaking to me directly, but I had expected nothing less.

"I'm not interested in him and we're not dating," I told her curtly, noting the way her perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up. "And he still cares about you, but he's very hurt. I think you have a chance of getting him back, though. It's not my business, but… I just thought you should know."

Cho looked at me in silence, her dark eyes examining my face carefully for a moment.

There was an uncharacteristic flush in her cheeks, but her voice was even when she said, "I wrote up the proposal for the launching party. I want you to go over it before I pitch it to Snape and Dumbledore."

I set my jaw and nodded slowly. "Okay, I'll do that," I said, and turned to go.

I had tried my best. I don't need to be friends with Cho, and this wanting me to proof read her rot is as much of a peace offering as I had expected; my work here is done.

"And Weasley?" Cho said suddenly, and I paused on my way to the door, turning to face her again. "Thanks…"

Raising my eyebrows, I risked meeting her eyes. They were no longer cold or murderous. Rather, they were appraising, and I found myself remembering the fateful day she entrusted me with the rank of Junior Editor.

I nodded.

"You're welcome, Chang."

**X**

I'm walking in the direction of the dungeons now, determined to march up to Slytherin and demand that Draco come out to speak to me. My heart is hammering away in my chest and I'm pumped with adrenaline, tingling at the very thought of what I'm about to do.

I go down the staircase that leads into the underbelly of Hogwarts, knowing every step takes me closer to him. I don't know just what I'm going to say, and I have no idea how he's going to react. All I know is that I can't stand this anymore.

I need to see Draco, I need to speak to him, I need for him to explain what this all means before I go crazy.

I round a corner, my brow set with determination, and suddenly there he is.

He's wearing his school uniform minus the robes, with the sleeves of his sweater and shirt rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened and his fair hair loose over his shoulders.

My heart wants to fly out of chest my and up my throat, my whole body is tingling almost painfully. Before me is the image my eyes have been longing to see all day, and all I want to do is run up to him and throw my arms around him.

"Draco!" I cry, and I can't remember having decided to speak. It just broke out of me, and as he turns to face me I feel like burrowing a hole into the ground and crawling into it, for I've just noticed he's got an arm wrapped around Aiken Dunn.

They both stare at me with obvious surprise. A moment later, Draco disentangles himself from his blonde companion, who looks from him to me with obvious incredulity.

Draco looks at me questioningly for a moment, and then walks towards me deliberately with his hands in his pockets.

"_Draco!"_ Aiken protests, a note of alarm in her voice.

"Go on ahead," he tells her, not bothering to glance at her; his eyes haven't left my face.

Her mouth hangs open as she stares at the back of his head, and then she scowls. "I won't wait up for you," she informs him.

"Did I ask you to?" Draco says icily, turning around to look at her.

Aiken opens her mouth and then closes it. She turns to me and gives me a nasty glare, but it's lost on me and I just stare back at her listlessly. She huffs and then stalks off past us, her large round breasts jiggling with every step she takes.

I suspect she is not wearing a bra.

Draco's gray eyes follow her retreating form calmly, his hands still casually in the pockets of his trousers.

"She'll wait," he murmurs, smirking confidently as he turns to look at me again.

I wince, feeling as if I've been punched in the stomach, and I'm not surprised to discover I feel like crying.

"So," Draco says quietly, his intense eyes seeking mine, "What's up?"

What's _up? _

I look back at him in silence. What can I say?

"_The ceiling?" _

"_I'm in love with you and I was hoping you'd care?"_

"Nothing," I mumble, no longer able to hold his gaze. I shift my eyes to his collar.

"What are you doing here?" he asks quietly.

I look up at into his gray eyes for a second before looking away. "Nothing, I'm- I…I should go," I babble, and I take a step back, preparing to turn around.

"Ginny…"

I freeze; my eyes widen and flick up to his.

To hear him say my name, after all this time…

Draco looks back at me quietly, his face tilted to the side.

"Tell me what's wrong." It isn't a request.

"Nothing's wrong," I lie, stiffening as he comes closer, until we're almost touching. I'm dangerously close to breaking down, and I know I need to get out of here right _now._

He touches the side of my face gently, and I flinch, blinking rapidly. Hot tears are sliding down my face now and I try to turn away, but Draco won't let me.

He's cupping my face in between his incredibly soft hands, forcing me to look up at him.

"Ginny, look at me," he says softly, and I do.

I look into his silver eyes fearfully, afraid of what I might see there, and more importantly, afraid of what he might see in mine.

"Why are you crying?" Draco asks me, in the sweetest voice, and it only makes me cry harder.

He bites his bottom lip, looking genuinely distressed, and then releases my face, taking a step back from me.

"I told you I wouldn't tell anyone…" he says, a little sharply. "If that's what you're worried about."

I begin to sob in earnest now, hiding my face in my hands. I hear him breathe, and I'm hating myself for crying in front of him. I can't even look at him now.

"If this is about Keegan," Draco begins again, but the inhuman shriek of rage and grief that escapes from the back of my throat instantly silences him.

"SHUT UP!" I scream, looking at him through blurry, unfocused eyes. "I get it, okay! You don't _like_ me! You want me to be with Paul, and the kiss yesterday was a horrible mistake!"

Draco raises his eyebrows and looks genuinely confused.

That stupid, stupid _wanker_. I could just _kill _him, I could just throw myself at his feet and hug his knees, begging for mercy.

"But why do you have to play with me like this, Draco? What are you doing to me?" I demand, as I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hands. "Why do you even pretend you care?"

I wipe at my face, embarrassed at my outburst, and I can hear Draco exhale loudly. When I look up at him again I see his face is covered with his hands and his broad shoulders are shaking lightly.

I gape in horror.

"Are you…you're- you-" I stutter, for I can't believe what I'm seeing. "You're _laughing!_ You're laughing at me!"

Draco _is_ laughing. He's thrown his head back and everything, his face still covered with his hands, and his whole body is trembling silently.

I stare at him in amazement, too stunned to speak or to react, and just as suddenly his laughter subsides.

He looks down at me, still smiling faintly, but his gray eyes are dull. "Silly girl," he says quietly, "Is that all you were crying about?"

I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water- I'm sure I look _wonderful_, but at the moment I don't care. "This- this is _funny_ to you," I remark incredulously.

Draco smirks. "It's funny as hell, just wait till I tell you," he replies sardonically, coming closer again until he's standing right in front of me. "Because you think I don't like you, and the thing is…"

I find myself holding my breath, waiting.

Draco's lips are still twisted into a smirk- I've gotten to know him well enough to realize it's of the self-deprecating variety. He looks into my eyes intently and I look back.

"Ginny… I've had this…this crush, this stupid little _crush_ on you, for the longest time... Since the first time I saw you walk out on the pitch with your little broom in your hand. And then…then I saw you flying…and. Forget it. I was done for."

I'm having trouble breathing now. My lungs seem to be burning, but no matter how deeply I try to breathe, I just can't seem to get any air in. And I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"When I saw you flying," Draco says, his gray eyes going over every feature of my face, "You looked…you looked _beautiful_. But not beautiful like you are now; you were too skinny and your hair was more…orange. But you looked so happy, and so free…I guess I kind of wished I could be like that…"

He falls silent again, his fingers curling around in my hair. "I'm lying to you, you know," he murmurs softly, "Your hair was beautiful when it was orange, too."

If I were myself right now I'd be snorting at this confession, but I'm not myself. I don't know who I am. My head is spinning.

"But I like it more like this," Draco says, carefully inspecting the strand of hair, like a child would, "This darker red."

I feel like I'm starting to turn blue.

"I can't believe I'm telling you this." He shakes his head lightly and looks into my eyes again. "But it feels good to just _say_ it. And…also I can't stand to see you crying." Draco holds my face in his hands again, wiping my tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "I kept sneaking looks at you all year," he continues quietly, "And Blaise laughed so much. And then you wrote those stories and I made him read them, and then he started liking you, too." He gives a wry grin.

My brain feels like mush. Like some gooey sticky mush. I can hear what he's saying, but I can't wrap my mind around it, it just doesn't sink in.

"Well… why didn't you _do _anything?" I demand, and I didn't actually _plan _to sound accusing, but that's how it came out.

Draco laughs mirthlessly, taking a step back and folding his arms over his chest.

"_Do anything?"_ he repeats mockingly, raising an eyebrow. "Like what? Hire a midget to serenade you? Kiss you at The Three Broomsticks?"

I flinch.

"You used to look at me like I was a bug," he says flatly, meeting my eyes again. And then his voice softens. "You hated me."

I open my mouth to deny this, but I close it again, remembering the way I glared at him in Hogsmeade, not one year ago. It's true. He was a Death Eater and he made me sick. And I thought he was beautiful, and I hated him a little for that, too.

If he had told me then -before the war- that he liked me, I would have laughed. Then I would have hexed him.

"But after that," I demand, starting to get angry for some reason I can't actually fathom. "You _saw_ how I felt about you…"

"-How you _felt_ about me? What do you mean?" Draco cuts in, his ice gray eyes flicking over me coldly. "How you screamed and yelled about going down to Slytherin because you want to fuck me?" he asks harshly. "Well guess what? So do all the girls in this school and some of the guys. So what?"

I blush to the roots of my hair, feeling myself burn with shame and indignation.

"What are you talking about, Draco?" I say sharply. "You must know…"

"I know that you _like_ me, Ginny," Draco says wearily, "But like I said, who doesn't?"

I stare at him incredulously and he stares right back.

He's not kidding. He's deathly serious.

"How can you even think that?" I say hoarsely, clenching my hands into fists. "How can you think that I'd want to use you like that? Is that really what you believe about me?"

Draco looks me in the eye. The line of his jaw unclenches, and his beautiful lips relax out of the ironic smirk they were twisted into.

"No," he says softly, as if he had just decided it. "I don't believe that about you."

My back is still to the wall, and I've folded my arms over my chest. After a moment Draco does the same, coming over to stand next to me against the wall, with his arms folded in the same way. He's looking down at me in silence and I'm looking up at him, my brow furrowed and my eyes still wet.

"I don't understand," I state, shaking my head.

Draco opens his mouth to answer, but just then loud steps begin to come down the staircase, the staccato noise punctuated by the sounds of laughter and broken conversations.

Draco and I both turn to find a group of seventh and sixth year Slytherins coming down the hall. I recognize some of them, and they obviously recognize me, for they give us curious looks as they walk by.

Some nod at Draco, others glare at me, and some pretend they can't see us at all.

Draco remains unmoving by my side, his silver eyes following the group as it disappears down the hall in what I presume is the direction of the Slytherin dorm.

"Come on," he says, taking my arm and leading me in the opposite direction.

I follow dumbly.

We come to a closed door at the foot of the stairs, and Draco looks both ways before opening it.

He steps through and I follow him without question. I can't even feel my feet, I can't feel myself walking. I notice detachedly that we are in a cluttered broom closet, dark and humid as is the rest of the dungeon.

Draco closes the door behind me and lights the lamp hanging over the dreary space with a flick of his wand.

I don't look up into his face but choose to inspect the details of his tie instead.

A thought has suddenly occurred to me, surfacing out of the mass of goop that has become my brain.

He is embarrassed to be seen with me.

"Ginny," Draco says, his voice tight with tension.

I do not look up at his face.

"I can't be with you."

I say nothing, staring fixedly at the obviously expensive and well polished black shoes he's wearing.

"You're- you're too…you're too good for me…"

My eyes have flicked to my own worn looking Mary Janes, of which the left one is held together mostly by magic. I realize then that the tips of my toes have been curled inwardly for quite some time, which explains the numbed sensation in my feet.

"I'm not…" Draco breathes heavily, sounding almost uncomfortable. "I'm not a _good _person, Ginny."

I unclench my feet.

"Your stupid weasel brother was right," he continues, and I don't miss the hint of bitterness in his voice. "You're not the girl a bloke fools around with. I know I'd screw everything up, and I'd end up hurting you. That's the last thing I want to do. I'm… glad…I'm glad you're going out with Keegan," Draco says tightly. And then he sighs. "Well, I'm not glad," he amends. "But he's a good guy. He'll take care of you."

I stare at him dumbly as I listen to him lay out all his reasons, but behind his calm words all I hear is one thing.

"Okay. I get it," I say quietly, as I blink furiously; I'm not going to cry. "Please, I understand what you're trying to say."

"You do?" Draco inquires softly.

"Oh, yeah," I say, wiping at the corners of my eyes and then looking up at him. "Yeah. I'm not nearly as stupid as I look."

"_Excuse_ me?" Draco says, raising his eyebrows. Demand

"You're very nice for doing this," I say, tears flowing freely down my face now. It seems the more I wipe away at them the faster they fall. "I'm sorry I can't be as gracious as you are…"

"What are you talking about?" Draco demands, taking a step towards me.

"Just _stop_ it!" I hiss, holding my hands up as if to shield myself. "You don't have to do this! I get it, okay?"

"Okay, what is it that you get?" Draco asks sharply, his gray eyes seeking mine.

"That you…" I begin, looking down at my feet again. I don't trust myself to speak, but I have to get this out. "That you don't- You don't _like_ me!" I wail, my face crumpling as I begin to cry again. "That's all you're saying! You don't want me, you don't like me at all!"

Draco looks mortified, his fine brow knitting with obvious distress. But the last thing I want is his pity, and his chagrin only makes me cry harder.

"Ginny-"

"You don't… l-l-like me!"

Draco's shaking his head, reaching out to me with his hands. "Please, how can you even think that?"

"Shut up!" I blubber, brushing his hands away. "You don't want me and that's why you haven't done anything, though you know I've been…_drooling_ over you all this time!"

Draco blushes bright red, his gray eyes wide. Even as he tries to come closer to me I step back, until my back is pressed against the wall.

"Ginny," he begins softly, his lovely voice appeasing. "I-"

"_No!_ Just shut up!" I shriek hotly, side stepping him and stalking to the door. "I don't want your _pity!"_

"Ginny," Draco says again tightly, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. "Listen to me-"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I yell, slapping his hands away.

He grinds his jaw, his eyes flashing. "Will you_ listen_ to me?"

"No!" I hiss, wiping at my eyes furiously. "Go back to screwing Aiken Dunn and everyone else in school! Everyone but_ me!" _I actually stomp my foot on the ground at this part, like a child throwing a tantrum.

Draco's eyebrows shoot up, but before he can say anything I ramble on.

"You must have been laughing so hard all this time- You and Blaise and Aiken. You must think I'm so pathetic…"

Draco's face is flushed an angry red, his gray eyes burning into mine. "Ginny," he says tightly, "Please shut up for _one_ moment-"

"Oh but you're such a bastard, Draco! To say that I'm too good for you when it's obvious you think it's the other way around," I murmur hoarsely, my voice thick with tears.

Draco's not even looking at me anymore- his eyes are closed and his face is strangely pale.

"And I'm so, so _stupid_ that I didn't even think of that," I go on, my voice reaching banshee-like intensity. "It never even crossed my mind that you wouldn't want me because I'm poor and crazy and just not good enough for-"

"_FUCK!"_ Draco explodes, driving his fist into the wood behind me.

It connects with the door with a slight crunching sound and I wince, wanting to look at his hand, but I just can't tear my eyes away from his. His brows are knitted into a horrible scowl and his face is a mask of quiet rage. His silver eyes are cold and glittering as if they really were made of metal.

My mouth snaps shut.

I know my eyes must be the size of saucers as I continue to stare at Draco.

He is livid. There isn't a trace of color in his face and I've never seen him looking so angry, never, not even when he had his fight with Ron, that time I kicked him in the groin.

"Will you listen to me," he grinds out in a low, strained voice, his jaw clenching and unclenching. _"Please."_

I remain frozen, unable to speak, and Draco's blazing eyes scan my face swiftly.

He steps back away from me, hunching his shoulders as he breathes deeply, looking up towards the ceiling.

My eyes are still glued to his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he says quietly.

"Is your hand okay?" I whisper, reaching up to take his left hand in mine.

I inspect his knuckles, which appear red and raw, but are unbroken. Thank God.

"Ginny," he says quietly, looking at me as I look at his hand. "Will you listen to me?"

I nod quietly, blinking back tears.

I want to look up at his face, but I don't dare meet his eyes.

"Ginny, I was a Death Eater," he says calmly, his voice low and measured as if he hadn't been attacking wooden doors a second ago. "I may not have been given the mark, but for all intents and purposes, I was a Death Eater just as much as my father was."

I stare at him in silence, wanting to protest at his making himself equal to Lucius Malfoy, but not daring to.

"And…and I did some pretty bad things…" He swallows, his gray eyes looking away from mine. "And I was at all the summonings, and I knew what they were going to do, and I did nothing to stop them."

His gray eyes are fixed steadily on my right shoulder, but I can tell Draco's not even seeing me.

"I knew whose family they were planning to kill days before it happened," he says softly. "And I did nothing."

"Draco-"

"-Do you think I'll ever be able to look Hannah Abbott in the eye?" he says, looking up at me, and I can feel my heart actually breaking.

"Draco, but you did do something!" I say desperately. "You were the one who-"

"-Yeah, I went along with Voldemort's plans up until the very last minute," Draco says softly, bitterly. "And then I betrayed my own father and went into hiding with my mum until you lot had finished fighting the war. Until Potter killed Voldemort and the danger was over." He falls silent for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Everything he is saying is true, and yet it's not. It depends on who looks at it and how, I guess. Draco's act of betrayal was what tipped the scales in our favor during the war. Still, I'm certain there are those who prefer to think of him as a traitor and a coward as opposed to a hero…

"Your stupid brother is right," Draco says after a moment, looking up and meeting my eyes coldly. "No matter what I do people will always remember I'm a Death Eater's son, and that I'm not to be trusted."

I gape.

_Ron? _

Draco Malfoy just said RON is RIGHT. This is perhaps the most shocking thing I've heard all day- and believe me, that's saying something. Did the world decide to go crazy all of a sudden?

"Draco, I can't believe that I have to tell you this, but-" I begin bluntly "-Ron is an _idiot._ And most people don't think that about you."

Draco snorts and I hasten to continue.

"And anyway, I don't care _what _people think!"

"But_ I_ do," he snaps, his gray eyes glittering fiercely. "And do you think Weasley's the only one?"

The way he says 'Weasley' you'd think it was 'brain syphilis', or some kind of flesh eating bacteria, but I understand he means Ron, and take no offense.

"No one else says it to my face like _he_ does," Draco continues, "No one else has the guts, but they still talk about it. And that's here in school. Out in the _real world," _and here Draco makes a vague gesture with his hands, his eyes, cold and hard as steel, never leaving mine, "My mother doesn't get invited to high society gatherings anymore. No one calls on her, and sometimes when we walk down the street people cross over to the other side so they won't have to look at us, the wife and the son of Lucius Malfoy. And my mother never did _anything," _he says bitterly, clenching his hands into fists.

I look back at him in shocked silence, both at what I'm hearing and at the way his face is flushed, the way his eyes seem to sparkle with rage and indignation and something else. Something like pain.

"And maybe I deserve it," he says quietly. "But _she_ doesn't. And neither do _you."_

My mouth is hanging open, and I'm staring at him with a no doubt inane expression on my face.

"Draco, what are you _talking_ about?" I sputter. "You don't deserve any of that! That's absurd! And anyway, being with you wouldn't make me an outcast-"

"Wouldn't it, though?" Draco cuts in sharply, his pewter colored eyes blazing as he leans in closer to me, his face lowered until it is level with mine. "Could you see yourself walking around holding hands with me? Could you bring me home to your mum and dad?" He snorts indelicately. "They'd be horrified to see you with someone like me. People would think you're crazy, or _stupid."_

I'm shocked again, shocked at the clear implication that Draco has actually considered being involved with me in a serious relationship, has weighed the pros and cons and has decided that it would be too damaging to my social standing.

Little dots have started to connect all over my brain at this point, and I finally grasp what has been eluding me all this time.

"_Draco,"_ I say softly, holding his face in my hands. His skin is warm and soft and seems to glow translucently. His eyes, which are the color of quicksilver, are fixed on me earnestly, unwaveringly. I can see so much hurt there, it makes my heart break a little more.

I gulp back the knot in my throat.

Draco is such a strong person. Looking at him walking around the hallways, seeing him speak and laugh and stand up to anyone, you'd never think he'd be hiding such deep insecurities, such raw pain. He's let down his guard for me to walk in through, and I've never seen him so vulnerable.

And my heart feel as if it's about to burst; no one should be allowed to be so beautiful.

"Draco," I breathe again, bringing down his face to mine. "I _know _you. I don't care what people say about you, or about us," I murmur, hating the triteness of my words, my inability to inarticulate what I feel: that I would follow him to the ends of the earth, to the gates of hell, if that's where he was going, and I wouldn't care about anyone's opinion.

But that's not what he needs to hear right now, and I instinctively know this.

"You didn't finish off Voldemort, like Harry. You didn't sacrifice your life for those you loved, like Lupin," I begin quietly, commending my poor soul to the gods of eloquence; if I screw up here I can easily blow it, and I'm painfully aware of that fact.

"But you did the right thing, when no one expected you to. And you're just as brave as any of them. It would have been so easy to just go along with what people thought you were, to do what they expected from you. But you didn't, and you tipped the scales in our favor."

Draco says nothing. His face is completely devoid of expression and he's looking at me inscrutably, but I can tell he's listening.

"People are prejudiced because they're scared. But they don't know you, and they don't matter. _I_ know you," I say, meeting his silver eyes unflinchingly, cupping his chin in my hand.

I have no idea what I'm doing…all I know is that I have to find some way to ease his pain, and to make him understand that I don't judge him. That in my eyes he is everything.

"And I know that you are a 'good guy', no matter what you say…" I continue, stroking the sides of his face with my hands, and he smirks quietly.

His eyes go from my eyes to my lips to my eyes again; he really is listening!

"You're trying to do the right thing, even though it's not easy. And you're so brave. And... I don't care what you did before, or what your father did," I say, my voice breaking with emotion as I withstand the intensity of his eyes. "I care about who you are now, and who you want to be," I whisper, and I know my eyes must be saying what my lips dare not.

_And I love you._

Draco looks down at me in silence, his silver eyes burning into mine, and for the first time I feel there are no walls between us. But I want more than this; I want to be closer to him. I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around his lean frame, and he gathers me to him, burying his face in the crook of my neck. It feels so right to hold him like this, to be held.

"You're beautiful," he whispers against my skin. "Ginny."

I draw in a breath, my arms still wrapped around him tightly as I rest my chin against his shoulder.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he says quietly, winding his fingers through a strand of my bound hair.

I can feel the warmth of Draco's body, the scent of him, envelop me like a second skin.

"And I don't want to be without you," I counter, holding on to him a little tighter.

For a moment Draco says nothing as we continue to hold each other, but then he whispers, so softly I almost don't hear it, "I don't want to be without you either…"

My heart soars and I draw back to look into his intense silver gray eyes. He meets my gaze and we just look at each other.

"Then _stay_ with me," I say urgently, standing on the tips of my toes so I can wrap my arms around his neck. I press my face against his, closing my eyes and squeezing him tightly, as if I could make him be with me by the sheer intensity of what I feel. "Stay with me…"

Draco's arms are circling my waist, and I draw away again, my arms still wrapped around his neck.

He looks down at me in silence, his beautiful face completely unreadable, as are his eyes, cold and gray as steel.

"I tried to stay away from you, you know," he says quietly, his warm breath tickling my ear. "I tried so hard. But I just couldn't. I had to be near you, I had to see you, and talk to you. Even though you're such a brat…"

I smile and sniffle a bit. I can feel my face begin to crumple, and if I'm fighting back tears, water and salt are winning right now. I don't remember ever having been this happy in my entire life, and for some reason it makes me want to cry like a baby.

And then he leans in, angling his face down to mine before closing his mouth over my lips, and I forget about everything.

I curl my fingers around the fine hair at the nape of Draco's neck, tilting my head to the side to allow him more access. His lips feel soft and warm against mine, and so right; a perfect fit.

His hands are on my waist, drawing me to him firmly, and I part his lips with my tongue, sliding it into the warmth of mouth, seeking his. Draco tastes so good.

I wish I could kiss him forever.

The moment the thought enters my mind, the door to the broom closet bursts open.

Seriously?

Draco and I break our kiss and I turn my face to the door, only to find Hermione staring at us through wide, chocolate brown eyes. "Uh, I….uh…" she stammers, blushing beet red.

Draco turns his face to her and then looks her up and down disdainfully. "Do you _mind?"_ he drawls icily, in a tone of indignant and unmistakable superiority; as if Hermione weren't a prefect who had just caught him in the decidedly undignified act of snogging in a broom closet.

Hermione's blush deepens, but she straightens to her full height and lifts her chin.

"_Ginny,"_ she says airily, pretending to ignore Draco. "It's past curfew. You _know _you shouldn't be out of bed."

I roll my eyes around and Draco taps his foot impatiently, his hands still firmly on my waist.

"I have rounds to make," my friend says snootily. "But I'll be back in ten minutes. I expect both of you will be in your respective dorms by then!"

"Okay, great. Don't let us keep you, Granger!" Draco says dryly, and instantly dismisses by turning away to look down into my face.

I grin up at him.

I can hear Hermione huffing indignantly as she slams the door behind her, but she's the last thing on my mind now.

I raise my arms to wrap them around Draco's neck again, and he smirks down at me. Though his face is without expression, his cheeks are flushed and his gray eyes are alight with warmth and happiness. My breath catches in my chest, and I try not to gape.

I love this boy so, so much…

"Now," he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine tenderly before drawing away again. "Where were we, _Ginny?"_

**X**

* * *

Yay! At long last. ^_^

If you have questions, I have answers!

My favorite parts of the chapter: when Draco attacked the door! O_O Draco is always so in control of himself! He rarely uses swear words and he NEVER raises his voice or resorts to physical violence. He uses words as weapons instead. So for him to totally flip like that- wow. And then that part where Ginny saw the differences in their shoes and came to all of these conclusions... LOL. :D

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	13. Fiducia

**Note: **"fiducia" means _trust. _

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who's been nagging me for an update- you know who you are! :D

* * *

**Il Dragone**

**Chapter 13: "Fiducia"**

_You and me  
_

_Meant to be  
_

_Immutable  
_

_Impossible.  
_

_It's destiny  
_

_Pure lunacy  
_

_Incalculable  
_

_Insufferable  
_

_But for the last time  
_

_You're everything that I want and ask for  
_

_You're all that I'd dreamed  
_

_Who wouldn't be the one you love  
_

_Who wouldn't stand inside your love?  
_

--"Stand Inside Your Love", by The Smashing Pumpkins

**X**

Draco _insists _on walking me back to Gryffindor Tower. Not that I put up much of a fight; I was just trying to be polite, anyway.

We're both flushed and disheveled when we exit the broom closet a good twenty minutes after Hermione's warning. And by the way, the smartest witch of our time did her reputation justice; she never came back.

Draco holds the door to our stuffy broom closet for me, and then straightens his tie and runs a hand through his long, silvery blond hair carelessly. Giving me a critical glance, he pauses to brush some of my unruly hair away from my face and to straighten my tie as well.

I watch as his long, thin fingers work on the knot of my tie, my eyes flicking up to his beautiful, still flushed face.

Draco raises his eyes to mine briefly, and though he doesn't smile, his expression unreadable, I can see warmth in his light gray eyes.

I beam, feeling something glow within my chest; I can also feel my once neat ponytail hanging precariously on my head, and know I must look a mess.

Draco inspects me with amused, sparkling gray eyes for a moment, and then smirks. "You look like you've just had the best snog of your life," he informs me, and I blush, but manage to roll my eyes.

I don't think I've fooled him, though; he smirks knowingly and draws me to him by the waist, and immediately my hands snake up to the sides of his face. I stand on the tips of my toes and cover his soft lips with mine, and I can feel him smile through our kiss.

Really, he wasn't kidding; none of my previous snogs can hope to compare to what it feels like to kiss Draco.

"_Mmm_…Ginny…" he murmurs, between kisses, "I have to get you…back…"

"_Mmm,_ yeah…" I agree breathlessly.

I trace his lips with the tip of my tongue before slipping through again, and a shiver goes down my core when his tongue meets mine.

My fingers wind through the silk of his hair as our tongues twine around each other, his hands holding me firmly by the waist. I lose myself in his kiss, and don't even notice when he leads me back into our little broom closet, kicking the door shut behind him.

**X**

Fifteen minutes later we're walking up the Tower's stairs hand in hand. I can't describe to you what it feels like to hold Draco's hand like that. I guess I feel glowing and light, like a balloon bouncing around, and his hand is the only thing that's keeping me from floating away. Again, there's that surreal feeling, like nothing matters, like nothing is real except for him.

We encounter no one along the way, and I feel a tingle of nerves at the thought of someone seeing us like this. Visual confirmation of a romantic liaison with Draco Malfoy is a rare and sought after treat. The rumors mills - which haven't stopped churning since my 'date that wasn't a date' with Paul - would just eat this one right up.

You'll understand that I'm not exactly eager to feature prominently in this week's gossip - _again_ - but I'm disinclined to let go of Draco's hand, which feels warm and soft in mine, and fits just right.

"Do you think your brother is going to have a nervous breakdown if he sees us?" Draco muses, as if guessing the course of my thoughts. His lips curve into a smug grin as he tugs lightly on my hand, and I find myself smiling back at him inanely.

"Well…he might," I answer, sobering a bit, but Draco's grin only widens; he's obviously delighted with the possibility.

We're at the portrait of the Fat Lady now, and she's eying the platinum blond next to me with what could only be described as _hunger _- almost as if Draco were a tasty dish she just couldn't wait to get her plump and ringed little fingers on.

I can relate.

"_Ooooh_, hello there, dear," she breathes, patting her hair nervously.

Draco inclines his head beautiful gravely, though his slate colored eyes are amused. "Good evening, Madam," he murmurs in his deep, velvety smooth voice, and at moments like these its obvious that he's been raised from fine Malfoy stock.

"Oh! A _gentleman_!" the Fat Lady gasped delightedly, fanning herself.

Oh brother.

"Err - _excuse us_!" I cut in rudely, grabbing Draco by the arm and dragging him over to the wall. He allows himself to be manhandled as I press him against the wall, making sure we're out of the portrait's line of sight.

This is _exactly_ what the Fat Lady used to do when Michael Corner walked me back to my dorm - only now it's a hundred times worse; she looked like she was getting ready to climb out of her portrait and... I shudder.

"What's the matter?" Draco slips past me and inverts our positions until I'm the one who is cornered. He braces his arms against the wall on either side of my head, effectively trapping me with his body, but it's his eyes that hold me in place. "Can't handle the competition?" he inquires, arching an ash blond eyebrow.

I do my best to appear aloof, trying to keep myself from blushing - _too much _- do you have any idea how exciting it is to be pinned up against the wall by Draco Malfoy?

"Yes_, that's_ it," I reply dryly. "How can I ever hope to compete with such a nice and shiny…_picture frame_…"

Draco's full lips curve into a sexy smirk, and the way his eyes are boring into mine is enough to make my cheeks burn.

"Yes, it's a very attractive picture frame…" he whispers huskily, lowering his hands to my waist.

His eyes meet mine, smoldering me with their intensity, and I swear my heart stops as I wait for his lips to descend on mine. They don't, and I tilt my head to the side inquisitively.

For a moment Draco says nothing, his fingers reaching up to curl in a strand of my hair.

"Trust me, Ginny," he says quietly, his expression sobering, "you have nothing to worry about. There _is_ no competition. For me…there's no one else."

I stare up at him and blink.

It takes me a second to realize he means Aiken Dunn, Athena Krauss, and possibly every girl in Hogwarts save Shawn, Hermione and Luna.

At the thought of Aiken Dunn a prickly feeling settles in my stomach, despite Draco's words and the sincerity I heard - I _felt _- in them.

"She'll be waiting for you, won't she?" I ask quietly.

"Hmm," Draco assents, his silver eyes narrowing; he obviously knows whom I'm referring to. "Probably."

I press my lips together tightly and say nothing, dropping my eyes to the knot in his green and silver tie.

One of his hands cups my chin, and he raises my face until it's level with his, his eyes scanning mine.

"I've never asked for anyone's trust, Ginny," he says softly, balancing my chin on the tip of two of his slender fingers. "But I'm asking _you_."

I say nothing, looking into the piercing, silvery depths that are his eyes. An intense tingle, almost like the thrill of electricity, races through me.

"I want you to trust me," Draco says quietly. "I want you to believe that no matter what happens, I'll never lie to you. "

I look at his tie again, letting the words sink in.

"Look at me, Ginny," Draco commands quietly, and my eyes instantly dart up to his. "Do you believe me?"

"I believe you always speak the truth," I say in a small voice. "I've never heard you lying to anyone -"

"That's not what I'm asking you," Draco says patiently, his stunning eyes burning into mine.

For a moment I feel like looking away, like hiding somewhere. No one should be allowed to have eyes like that, eyes that cut through all the bullshit, through all the subterfuge. But I raise my chin, meeting the full intensity of the mercury depths that behold me.

I know Draco isn't a liar, but do I trust him? There is a difference, and I hadn't realized it until just now, when the heaviness of his request sank in.

And I do. I _do_ believe in him.

"I trust you," I say firmly, meeting his eyes, "I believe you."

Draco's jaw relaxes, and his hands drop to my waist again. "Good," he murmurs, leaning in to rest his forehead against mine. "I trust you, too," he whispers softly.

The significance of his words really hit me this time, and I blink repeatedly. I doubt those are words Draco - or any Slytherin, for that matter - says lightly.

I reach up to touch the side of his face with my hand, and his pale lashes fan over his smooth cheeks as he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch.

I don't think I've ever known someone as intense as Draco Malfoy. It's all or nothing with him, I guess.

Following a sudden impulse I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him tightly to me, wanting to confirm that he's real, and he's mine - because he's giving himself to me.

His arms circle my waist, and he rests his chin on my shoulder as he holds me.

He's so beautiful, Draco is.

For a moment we just hold each other, until a strangled noise from behind his back makes us both turn.

I can't say I'm surprised to find Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas standing there in the corridor, staring at Draco and me with both fascination and _horror _- almost as if they had caught us wearing matching jumpsuits and doing some intricate choreographed dance in the middle of the hall.

They're both standing there, still as statues, Dean dark and handsome, Seamus blond and ruddy - and, well... handsome, I guess - both wearing matching expressions of disbelief.

"_What_ are you two staring at?" I snap, and they both avert their eyes guiltily.

"Um, we..." Dean begins.

"- Ahh - ermm...uh," Seamus mumbles.

Draco arches a delicate eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, perhaps more so than usual.

"Good night, Gin," he says lightly, glaring at Seamus and exchanging nods with a still dazed Dean before turning to look at me again. "See you tomorrow," he murmurs, as he brings one of my hands up to his face, and it felt like it was just the two of us again.

I'm shocked at his gentleness in front of the two boys, and intensely pleased, more than I would have imagined, by the fact that he's not ashamed of…this.

Draco's pewter colored eyes meet mine just before he kisses my fingers, and I feel myself blush with pleasure as he releases my hand and turns away.

Dean, Seamus and I turn to watch the Slytherin walk away with his characteristic confidence - as if he hadn't been caught snuggling in the hallway by two boys in his year.

Once he's gone, Dean and Seamus exchange looks of shock, their eyes round as saucers, and I sigh.

"You guys are _idiots,_ " I inform them, slipping in through the portrait without sparing them another glance.

**X**

"I'M GOING TO _KILL_ HIM!" Shawn rages, pausing her manic pacing to stomp her foot down petulantly. "_I'll kill him!_ How _dare _he?! That _twit_!"

She's talking about Seamus, of course, and she's overreacting.

So Seamus had run off to inform Ron that he'd witnessed the distressing sight of "Ginny and Malfoy - _hugging _in the hallway!"

Gasp!

Well, really... I guess it _is_ sort of shocking.

Anyway.

Ron has remained suspiciously silent. It's true, it's only been twenty minutes, but I expected to hear his scream of rage from my dorm, or at least to have received an Angry Note. Strangely, he has yet to react; I fear the worst.

Still, I can't say I'm upset about him finding out; it was bound to happen and I'm actually relieved I didn't have to tell him myself. So much for Gryffindor courage.

But Shawn - who was in the common room when Seamus did his bit of babbling - is acting like it's the end of the world.

Weird, huh?

I dunno, but it really feels like Shawn has been trying to find an excuse to dump Seamus lately. If that's the case, she'll find it a hard task, seeing as he _dotes_ on her.

I never would have expected this reversal of roles, but there has been a complete flip in the Shawn/Seamus dynamic. It's gotten to the point where if I want to find Shawn, I've only to follow the track of Seamus' drool. Who would have thought...

"Shawn..." I begin, "it's _really_ no big deal. Ron had to find out sooner or later-"

"_No!"_ she snaps, swirling around to face me. "Seamus had no right to tell him! It's none of his business, and anyway, you're my best friend! He should have thought how this would affect _me_!"

"But Shawn-"

"Don't _defend _him!" she hisses, her black eyes blazing with real anger. She glares at me and then turns away again, and even the way her blond hair swishes at her back seems angry.

I raise my eyebrows, but say nothing. I know better than to attempt to have a conversation with Shawn when she gets like this.

But still...it's clear that something is seriously going on with my friend, and I feel myself burn with guilt for neglecting my best friend duties. I've been seeing the signs all week, but I've too busy pining over Draco - and now, _snogging_ him - to actually pay attention.

Time to find out what's going on - and something tells me whatever it is has little, if nothing, to do with Seamus.

**X**

The gray light of morning makes the clouds in the enchanted ceiling glow a pale gray. I scan the Great Hall for a head of platinum blond hair, but don't find one. I quirk my lips and take my seat by Ron's side at the Gryffindor table, grateful for the way he seems to be completely ignoring me; he seems to be completely engrossed by his bowl of oatmeal.

Unfortunately he is the only one who's pretending to pay me no mind; everyone else at the table, including Hermione and Harry, seems to be shooting me inquisitive looks. And then there are the whispers.

Leave it to _a boy_ to reveal my dastardly secret of loving Draco Malfoy in the _common room_. Judging by the whispers that seem to surround me wherever I go, Shawn and Ron weren't the only ones who heard Seamus' report on Draco and mine's cozy hallway encounter.

"_What_ are you looking at?" Shawn demands of Parvati Patil, who hasn't taken her eyes off of me since I sat at the table.

The girl's dark eyebrows shoot up with obvious surprise, but then she huffs and turns to Ron - who continues to glare into his bowl of oatmeal.

I sigh, attacking my own oatmeal with my spoon.

I wonder where Draco is.

As if on cue, a majestic black-feathered owl swoops down gracefully, black wings spread dramatically. It perches lightly on my shoulder, the tip of its wings ruffling Ron's carefully messy hair in the process.

My brother pats his head awkwardly, giving the regal bird a death glare, and it glares right back.

It feels like everyone at the Gryffindor table has turned to observe as I unroll the small piece of parchment attached to the owl's leg, and I hope they miss the fine trembling in my fingers.

I realize, not for the first time, that the shame of having my smutty stories circulated and openly discussed around the castle has prepared me to remain calm under public scrutiny. Zacharias Smith inadvertently did me a favor, even if I _did_ have to suffer through three "sexual counseling" sessions with my Head of House - McGonaggal! Gah!

This is _nothing_ in comparison, I tell myself, and I manage to keep the exhilaration I feel out of my face as my eyes scan the almost fastidiously neat print that lines the parchment.

_**My Quidditch practice ends at six.**_

_**-DM.**_

Hmm...

I feel like I'm being briefed.

In a sense, I guess am.

It seems Draco is formal to a fault in his written correspondence. I mean, it's not like I expected for him to dot his _i'_s with hearts and to end it with _"sealed with a kiss, your Draco"_, but still...

In any case, it's a definite improvement from, _"Weasley, do TRY to be on time",_ his previous note to me. And I can't deny the tingle of something at the knowledge that he thought of me, that he actually wrote to let me know when I could see him.

How Draco-ish of him.

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I slip the note into the pocket of my robes, and not even the prickly feel of everyone's eyes on me stifles the little glow I feel inside.

**X**

By the time my afternoon classes are done, the whispers that had met me at the Gryffindor table that morning follow me everywhere I go. It seems even the Hufflepuffs know about it, judging by the way Christina Roh - their Quidditch team Keeper and their captain - stared at me, a mix of jealousy and admiration clearly written on her face as I walked by her in the hallway.

"You're with Malfoy now?" Colin demands as we exit Muggle Studies, his hand on my shoulder, his eyes scanning my face with incredulity and perhaps...hope. Hope that I'll deny everything.

I stare at him blankly for a moment, and then nod.

"Well...yeah. I'm-"

"But, but - _how?_ How did this _happen_?" Colin demands of no one in particular, in the tone of one who is struggling to comprehend the sinister workings of fate.

"What _I_ want to know," cuts in Melina Sanchez-Hayes, a Gryffindor in our year, "is if the rumors are true...you know...is Malfoy really as _talented _as they say he is?"

I gape at her, too shocked to blush like a Weasley this time, but Colin blushes for me.

"Ooops," she murmurs, wincing. "Too soon to ask, it seems..." And then she winks in what I assume was an apologetic manner.

"I - erm...I gotta go guys," I murmur, heading in the opposite direction.

"Enjoy!" Malina calls after me, and I walk a little faster.

Melina has raised an issue that I've been obsessing over ever since the first time Draco's lips met mine, and I don't want to think about that right now. I can feel a thrill of excitement in my lower body at the thought of how "talented" Draco might be, and the realization that I'm in a position where I'll get to know. It's scary and elating and scary! It's one thing to fantasize about it when it seems impossible, but now…

Gah!

Why isn't Shawn here?

Well, for one thing Shawn doesn't take Muggle Studies, for another she is serving detention with Snape, for a change.

I grin to myself thinking of my friend. A quick glance at Mickey tells me it's five fifteen; we've been let out early. I have three quarters of an hour to kill before going down to the pitch to see Draco, so I figure I'll drop by on Shawn.

I don't want to get to the pitch at six...I want to be late, so as not to appear eager; there's no reason why Draco should know about how I've counted every second until I see him again - but I _have_.

I haven't seen Draco _all day!_ He wasn't at breakfast, and I'd had lunch at our newspaper staff room with Cho, during our meeting to discuss the newspaper launching party next Thursday.

Cho, by the way, didn't mention Draco - but she gave me a knowing grin when I said I couldn't meet her later tonight.

"Yes, I'm sure you'll be busy," she murmured, arching her eyebrows in a way I didn't care to ponder.

I reach the dungeon level and soon find myself at Snape's lab. The door is open and I step through, expecting to find Shawn alone; Snape usually locks himself up in his office during his detentions, leaving his unfortunate students on their own to carry out the petty and vindictive tasks he usually assigned - such as harvesting Brockwurst slime - _manually_.

To my surprise, when I enter the lab, Snape is there. _With Shawn_. They're so engrossed in what they're doing that they don't notice me come in.

Get your mind out of the gutter - they aren't doing anything interesting, although in a sense they are. They're _working together._

They stand on opposite sides of one of the back tables of the lab, their heads - one blonde, one raven black- bent together over the ingredients spread out before them. Snape's back is very straight, his head inclined as he cut strips of what appeared to be blackroot, his long black sleeves reaching almost to the knuckles of his pale hands. I can't see his face - his side is to me, and his dark hair covers everything but his hooked - yet elegant - nose; but I can tell, by the uncharacteristic lack of tension in his shoulders, that he's relaxed.

Shawn is just the opposite, however. She's standing across from him, stirring the makings of what - judging by the ingredients they're using - appears to be an advanced potion. Her back is straight as a rod, her movements slightly jumpy, and occasionally she looks up from her work, letting her eyes roam over the Potions Master's face. The look she has - it's nothing I've seen in her eyes before, not even when she used to pine over Seamus. It's something like... _respect. _Respect and appraisal. And then...well, yeah, longing_. That_ part is familiar.

_I knew it!_

I smirk to myself as I stand by the door, but my expression sobers a moment later. For some reason it feels wrong to be here...I feel uncomfortable seeing them, like maybe I shouldn't be, like I'm interrupting something.

I take a step back and let myself out silently, glad that neither of them noticed me.

So much for Shawn, then.

I still have forty minutes to kill...

Walking back up the stairs, I ponder my options. I'm tired of feeling like a show poodle, so the library is out.

Just as I reach the main level Marvin Gray catches my eye - you remember him, one of the Hufflepuffs on staff at the newspaper. Well, he just bounds up to me and demands to know "if it's true".

"If what's true?" I reply innocently, remembering how I tried to force him into covering Draco's club for the newspaper so that I wouldn't have to, a little over a month ago.

I feel a flash of relief at the fact that fate stepped in - _that_, or Marvin is more obtuse than any one Puffle should be; either way, I'm grateful.

"That you and Malfoy-" Marvin trails off.

This is only the tenth time today I've been faced with this inquiry, and I realize that my confidence in more or less dealing with it comes from having witnessed Draco's behavior in front of Seamus and Dean.

Draco's obviously not ashamed of being seen with me, and I'm sure he won't be upset if someone tells him I've confirmed our, err, relationship. Still, it feels weird, and I wish the questions would stop.

Once I manage to get rid of Marvin, I err - _retreat _- to Gryffindor Tower. Okay, more like _flee_. Escape. Run away from the questions, the murmurs, the murderous looks and congratulatory pats on that back - seriously - that seem to meet me wherever I go. I hadn't even realized just how coveted Draco really was until today; coveted and feared. It seemed every Slytherin I encountered glared at me with grudging respect. Respect and loathing, alright, but you can't have it all.

I make it to the portrait without encountering anyone else, I'm glad to say, and I very much doubt there will be anyone in the common room at this time.

"Oh, hello dear," the Fat Lady murmurs, her beady little eyes darting behind me expectantly. "And where is the delightful young man that escorted-"

"-_Shish kebab_!" I snap, and she swings open in mid-sentence.

I stomp into the common room, ready to bite the head off the next person who even so much at looks at me too long.

And of course the first people I see are the Dream Team; Ron and his courageous friends are sitting in a corner, with Hermione and Harry's heads bent over a textbook and my brother sitting on a couch, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.

I ball my hands into fists and determine to ignore them, but Ron looks up and meets my eye as I walk by.

"Oh. It's _you_," he mutters, and his expression instantly sours.

I stiffen, but instead of unleashing his brotherly rage and indignation on me, he reaches into the school bag lying at his feet, draws out a medium sized envelope and tosses it to me unceremoniously. "Here."

I plop down on the couch next to him, relaxing for the first time today as my fingers work to open the package from home. Being under a microscope is hard work, and I hadn't even realized the toll that dealing with this new kind of attention had taken on me until just now. I feel oddly safe here with the Dream Team.

I empty the contents of the envelope onto my lap, not surprised to discover the once dirty pair of socks I had sent my mum for mending in response to her angry "What Have You Done To Poor Fred?!" missive. I inspect the socks thoughtfully, wondering why it's taken her this long to get them back to me - now in perfect condition, of course. I guess she must have been seriously pissed off.

No note from her this time, thank Merlin, but there is one from _Charlie_.

So he's home again; he has to go down to the Ministry every three months or so, to report to the Wildlife and Gaming Commission about the dragon reservation he runs in Romania. I feel the corners of my mouth turn up in a smile as I hold the thin envelope, taking in my brother's familiar handwriting before opening it.

It's always great to hear from my childhood favorite brother. Already I can my tension slowly dissolving; this is just what I needed.

And then I read the note, and my mouth literally hangs open.

_**What's this about you dating the Malfoy kid, then?**_

I gape at the piece of parchment in my hand, my eyes still disbelieving.

Aside from the fact that I can't hope to reconcile the words "the Malfoy kid" with the image of Draco, I simply can't believe that even Charlie - CHARLIE - knows about us. How could he possibly have-

And then it hits me, and I feel like kicking myself. I feel like kicking _him._

_"RON!"_ I bark, and he jumps next to me, his elbow digging into my side painfully.

"Ow!" I whine, twisting reflexively before remembering how pissed off I am. "Didn't take you long, did it!" I accuse, shoving the parchment into his face.

"What are you _talking_ about?" he snaps, even as his blue eyes scan over Charlie's succinct note. "I haven't told anyone," he says gruffly, raising his eyes to mine once he's done reading. "It's not like I'm anxious to discuss that subject, in case you haven't noticed."

I feel the crease between my eyebrows soften as I take in my brother's morose expression.

This babbling to Charlie isn't his style, to be honest. Ron nags incessantly when he doesn't approve of one of my choices, he's on my back for days, but it's between him and me, and he would _never_ write to anyone else about my things. I like that about my brother; he's nosy as hell but oddly discreet - I know I can trust him.

"I'm sorry, Ron," I mutter with some chagrin, the fire of my anger put out just as quickly as it exploded into being. "But how could Charlie have possibly found out about -"

"-Uh, Ginny..." Hermione murmurs in a very small voice. "Ginny, I...I'm sorry."

Ron, Harry and I all turn to stare at her in amazement.

"I'm really, really sorry...I didn't mean for-"

_"Hermione?" _I breathe incredulously, taking in the guilty and apologetic look in her chocolate brown eyes. "_You_ told him? _You owled Charlie_ to tell him about me and Draco?"

"Draco and me," she corrects mechanically, and I hear a sound between a growl and a gasp rise from the back of my own throat. She must have heard it too, for she instantly blushes several shades of red and hastens to explain.

"No, I didn't...I didn't owl Charlie, but…"

"You told Fred," I retort flatly, having already made the connection.

"Well, yes," she admits, "I told Fred...but only because I was so worried about you, Gin! And Fred told Charlie because he says you listen to him...I really...I didn't mean..." Hermione trails off under my glare, and Harry pats her shoulder awkwardly.

As I continue to stare at the brunette, I realize that I'm reacting as I know she expects me to, but deep down, and for some reason I don't understand, I can't really bring myself to be angry.

It _was_ tremendously nosy of her to interfere that way, but didn't I do the same with her and Fred?

I was worried about her, and I did what I thought was best. I think the same applies here, and even though she was wrong, I know her intentions were good.

"Please don't be upset, Gin," she continues, grasping the edges of her textbook in a sign of nervousness. "I'm just really worried about you..."

"We're _all_ worried," Harry interjects quietly, and I don't know whether to roll my eyes or sigh.

"I can't believe you people," I mutter, sinking back into my seat.

Ron, who had somehow managed to remain silent thorough the exchange, snorts derisively. "Right. _You_ snuggle in the hallway with the biggest scum in school, and _we're_ the ones who are acting funny."

"He is not _scum_, Ronald," I snap, glowering at him. "And even if he were, there are a few choice names I could call Parvati, but I _don't_; I expect the same courtesy from you."

"You can call Parvati whatever you want," Ron lies, "that doesn't change the fact that you're making a huge mistake and getting in over your head."

I think of my "huge mistake", Draco, and feel something warm stir within me; it's almost six.

"Ron, you're welcome to say 'I told you so' when this is all over," I say, and despite the snarkiness of my tone, my stomach tightens at the very thought. "But for now, let me err in peace."

"Good grief," Ron mutters, and I stick my tongue out at him, standing to go.

My mood has improved enough that I spare a glance at Hermione, who nods imperceptibly, knowing herself forgiven.

"Later, guys," I mutter, turning to go. I intend to stop by my room to give myself a quick once over before going down to the pitch, but Ron's voice stops me dead in my tracks.

"_Gin_..."

I turned around to face him, and my heart catches at the sober expression in his face.

"I know that you don't listen to me, and you don't _want_ to listen right now. But please - just be careful," he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to his parchment. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

I stare at my brother in silence, wanting to say so many things, but knowing there is no place for those secret truths I know.

Like the fact that I trust Draco, that I have faith in him, that I know he will take care of me, that I feel safe with my heart in his hands. That even if I'm dead wrong, even if he destroys me in the end, the moments I can have with him now are well worth it.

There's no room for these words between my brother and I - not now, maybe never. I can only hope that one day Ron would see Draco differently - a little less like he used to be, and more like he wants to be. Maybe I can help, maybe I can make that happen. But where to start?

"Just take care of yourself," Ron continues, raising his eyes to mine.

For now, there is nothing for me to say. I look into the clear blue eyes that hold mine, tight with worry and frustration, and nod in silent assent.

**X**

I walk out onto the pitch, treading my way over the grounds by the dim light of my wand. It's cold and dark, and no moon or stars are visible in the night sky, only ragged navy blue clouds navigating lazily above me, like… emo cotton candy, I guess.

My shoulders are still tight with tension at the thought of my brother and his friends. Well, _my_ friends, too, I'll admit it - though not out loud. I hate the way they think of Draco - they're so sure of him, so sure that he'll hurt me and use me. I hate their worry, the way they look at me as if I were marked for destruction.

But despite the heaviness of my thoughts and the gloominess of the landscape I feel cheerful, comforted by the pleasant heat of the warming spell I've cast over myself, and the knowledge that I will soon see Draco.

All thoughts are brushed aside as the realization hits me - I'll soon be in his presence again, my eyes will see him, my fingers will touch him, my lips will kiss him. Dozens of butterflies dance madly in the pit of my stomach at the thought of him, and for a moment it feels like I can't breathe. Sometimes I feel like I can squeeze him to the death, crushed by the sheer force of my love...

Yes, I'm crazy, but don't act like you never noticed it before.

I arrive at the pitch and instantly spot Draco, whose white-blond hair - done in the signature half-ponytail he wears for all things Quidditch - is shimmering softly, like a beacon in the darkness. He's flying very high and very fast, a figure clad in black, cut against the vastness of the clouds. Other figures join him, giving chase, but he outmaneuvers them with obvious ease.

I can tell from the informal way that he and his teammates are flying, and by the sudden whoops and bursts of laughter that punctuate the silence of the night, that the practice session is over and they're indulging in a game, by the looks of it a fun one.

I find myself wishing I'd brought my broom along so I could join in before it hits me - these are _Slytherins_, and other than Draco and Blaise, and possibly Theodore Nott, _they all_ _hate my guts. _

The thought sobers me a bit, reminds me of the Dream Team, but a moment later my eyes find Draco again and I am instantly cheered up. He's playing Chaser against Blaise, and at the moment he's racing towards one of the hoops with a Quaffle safely tucked under his arm, unhindered by Nott's efforts to Bludger him.

I watch him fly with the same sense of awe I feel every time. He is... _beautiful._

"He's pretty good, huh?" a female voice says from behind me.

I turn to discover Aiken Dunn standing there, and it is only now, when curves of my mouth turn down, that I realize I'd been smiling a moment ago.

She looks me up and down, her lips twisting into something between a sneer and a deprecating smile.

"By Merlin," she murmurs quietly, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, "I still don't know what it is they see in you."

I suppose by 'they' she means Blaise and Draco, and I feel my face burn with shame and anger; Aiken has just voiced my thoughts, the thing I've been wondering over and over since my conversation with Draco in the broom closet: why me? Why did Draco Malfoy choose _me?_

But who the _hell _does Aiken Dunn think she is, that _skank_, that she can talk to me in this way, anyway?

"Who _cares_ what they see?" I say airily, looking her straight in the eye. "The point is _I'm_ the one they want, isn't it?"

The blonde girl flinches delicately and I instantly regret the words. _I_, out of all people, know what it's like to pine.

The thought of apologizing actually flashes through my pathetic mind, but good Slytherin that she is, an instant later Aiken's face is completely blank.

"Draco is very... _fickle_," she says lightly, playing with a strand of her pale hair. "Enjoy him while you can."

"Oh, I _will_," I reply casually, displaying an indifference I don't feel, and turning away to face the pitch again.

I'm trying to act unruffled, but my heart is pounding wildly, and I'm wondering at the Slytherins' shared ability to unerringly identify other people's insecurities and fears.

Aiken isn't done, apparently, because I can hear her footfalls approach me from behind in the same instant that a platinum blond head turns towards me.

And then Draco's eyes lock with mine. In that instant my breath catches in my throat, and I feel the old shivers begin to make their way down my spine. We look at each other for a moment, and everything else fades away. But then Draco's eyes go from mine to the place behind me where I know Aiken is standing, and a moment later he's diving towards me in a flash of black.

He touches down lightly, dropping his state-of-the-art broom as if it weren't worth several thousand Galleons. Before I can say a word he's standing in front of me, and he's wrapped his powerful arms around my waist, lifting me to him as his soft, cold lips descend on mine.

The kiss is brief, but it leaves me blushing and breathless, with my knees wobbly as if they were made of jelly.

I vaguely register the catcalls and hoots that erupt from - who else? - Blaise and Nott, still perched on their brooms high up in the sky.

"_I_ won," Draco announces smugly, his voice low and breathy in a way that makes something curl inside of my belly.

My hands are wrapped around his neck, and I let them stay there as my eyes hungrily scan his face, taking in everything about him, the Aiken Dunns of the world forgotten as the tips of his cold fingers touch the skin of my face.

He's wearing his tight Quidditch pants and a black pashmina sweater that feels incredibly soft against my face. Yes - Draco Malfoy actually wears cashmere to Quidditch practice. Are you surprised? Cause I can't say _I_ am.

He's also wearing his Quidditch gear: boots, kneepads, wrist guards and fingerless gloves - I'm trying hard not to drool.

"Come on, let's get out of here," he says, mounting his broom lightly and making room for me.

I've yet to say a word, still dazed by the sight of him and the lingering taste of him on my lips. It takes me a moment to react, but I finally do, climbing on the broom in front of him with my skirts gathered demurely at my sides.

Draco circles my waist with his arms, reaching around me to grab the front of the broomstick. For some reason my heart is pounding wildly, and I wonder if I will ever get truly used to him.

"Midnight sexcapades!" Theodore Nott shouts from above, making a very obvious, very tired reference to my now famous --or should I say _infamous_-- sex-on-a-broom story, 'Midnight Garden'.

"More like _six o'clock _sexcapades!" Blaise amends loudly, making a show of checking his watch. "It's never a bad time, if you ask me..."

I roll my eyes and turn to look at Draco, whose hands have left my waist; they're busy making a very rude gesture at Blaise at Theo - something involving his left fist and his right index finger...I won't go into details.

Once he is done, uh, communicating with his mates, Draco wraps his arms around me again, reaching for the broomstick and guiding us upwards smoothly.

We shoot up and I snuggle back against him, enjoying the way he rests his chin on one of my shoulders.

It occurs to me now that it has been years - literally years - since I've flown on the same broom with someone, and I never thought I would be doing it with Draco Malfoy, of all people. He flies beautifully, maybe better than Charlie, which is really saying something.

"Hi, Ginny," he says quietly, leaning forward so that I can feel the softness of his cheek brush against mine.

"Hi, Draco," I answer softly, trying to keep my voice from wavering.

"You're kind of quiet today. Everything okay?" Draco inquires, as he veers the broom gently to the left, completing an idle loop around the pitch.

I shiver, partly from the cold, partly from the intimacy of his question, the way he asked...

_I love him_. And I'm...happy. I realized it just now.

I'm _happy._

"I'm okay," I say quietly, turning my face to the side. I find he's already looking at me, his stormy gray eyes leveled on mine; my heart skips a beat. "I'm just...I'm happy."

Draco doesn't say anything, but I feel his arms tighten around my waist as we continue to circle the pitch. It seems he's enjoying flying around with me, and the thought makes something glow inside of me as I snuggle deeper into his arms.

It takes me a while to realize that everyone else has gone - it's only the two of us out on the pitch, and a minute later Draco corrects our course, flying towards the castle's highest tower.

To my surprise, once we land at the Astronomy Tower's viewing galleria we're met by two young Slytherin boys - fourth years, I think - whose names I don't know.

"Did anyone give you any trouble?" Draco questions, reaching into his back pocket; I take the opportunity to admire his firm bum.

"No. Some Hufflepuffs came up, but we ran them off," one of the boys says smirking.

"Good," the blond replies, tossing him something that looks suspiciously like a pack of cigarettes. "Nice work," he adds, watching as the boys leave down the winding stairs.

I stare after them incredulously, and then turn to Draco with my hands on my hips.

"What?" he demands, arching an eyebrow.

"You gave them _cigarettes!" _I accuse.

Draco laughs. "Yeah, well, I _had_ to. It was either that or PlayWizard and there's no way I'm giving _those_ up."

"Psssh," I mutter, as he grabs me by the waist, drawing me to him firmly until I'm pressed against the front of his body.

"I had to reserve the place, love," he murmurs, and I shiver. "Do you have any idea how many people think they can just come up here to snog during dinner?"

I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling a tingle in my belly, a flutter of something at the way he just called me "love", at the way his hands are holding me against him, and he seems to devour me with his eyes.

By Merlin, I want to be devoured.

"The nerve of them," I murmur, standing on the tips of my toes to reach his lips. "Coming up here to snog..."

My mouth closes over his, my eyelids fluttering as his lips open close against mine, the tip of his tongue darting out to trace my bottom lip before slipping through in search of mine.

**X**

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**NOTE:** This here is **NOT the end**, _obviously_. It is, in all honesty, a filler chapter. *cough, cough*

I started working on the final chapter, and I struggled and I struggled with it - but the thing is, as someone once said, "Draco is like fine wine- he needs to breathe".

He does, and he _is_ like fine wine- in more ways than one. u_u

The ending I had written up felt too rushed, and I felt I had more to say, more to build up on, really, before I could get to where I want to go. So bear with me! I have board exams to take, and so I don't know when I'll be able to update again, but I WILL finish this!


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